Sons
by The Otherworlder
Summary: Life has a funny conception of compensation. Three days after Damian's death, a letter arrives at Wayne Manor, bringing Bruce the one thing he cannot bear to have: a son. In which Billy Batson is the son of Bruce Wayne. New 52 universe.
1. An Untimely Letter

Disclaimer: I own nothing! DC has them all.

AN: The inspiration of this story is an excellent fic **_Bat Son _****by** **frumi0us **in the Young Justice fandom. It is soooooo good and I am rather devastated the author is not updating anymore. Because I am dying to read more "Billy Batson as the Bat's son" story, I took it upon my self to write it. And here we are.

Here follows a rant on continuity details that you can totally skip if you don't care about nitpicking.

_This story is a basket case of cherry-picked continuity. It is generally set in the New 52 world, where everything is grim and unhappy, no Cass and Steph, and Damian just died. However, I kept Billy Batson as the sweet-natured 10-year old from pre-reboot origin stories instead of the street-punk teenager. (Sorry Johns, totally not feeling your Shazam.) Captain Marvel is part of the Justice League via regular recruitment process, the same way Element Woman joined the League. The specific point in continuity is right after Damian's death and before Dick's Chicago arc, and of course all before the Trinity War/Forever Evil story line. I will definitely try my hardest to iron this story into the New 52 world. I am really hoping the pre-reboot version of Billy is enough of a light in dark places that he will give the Bat family a sense of familial warmth again. Tall order, I know, but here is my attempt. _

That's pretty much enough ranting I think. Here goes the story.

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**Chapter 1: An Untimely Letter**

Three days after Damian's death, Alfred Pennyworth found a rather unusual letter addressed to Bruce Wayne in a pile of random frivolities that even he wouldn't bother to read. It was a large manila envelope, the lettering on it obviously a child's hand, neat but by no stretch of imagination beautiful and practiced. The return address was a PO box in Fawcett City, curiously. Alfred frowned, and decided to take a chance; it could be important.

After running the letter through X-ray for booby traps and explosives and a radiation bath to kill all biological material, Alfred finally opened the envelope. There was another regular sized sealed envelope inside, also addressed to Bruce Wayne but obviously by a different hand. Along with the sealed envelope, there was another sheet of paper and two photographs, showing a very young Bruce Wayne hugging a blue-eyed beauty against the backdrop of exotic and grand mountain sceneries. Central Asia, somewhere off the Himalayas, perhaps? Alfred frowned; he had a faint suspicion of where this letter was headed. He unfolded the sheet of paper and began to read.

_"Dear Mr. Wayne:_

_I am sorry about bothering you, and I know this will seem weird, but it's important and I hope you will hear me out."_

So a child wrote the opening statement too. Alfred was beginning to find the whole thing distasteful and almost wanted to stop reading, but kept going out of respect for his duty.

_"I think you know my mom, Marilyn Batson, or Marilyn Ordway before she married. By the looks of the photos you two were good friends. My mom passed away three years ago, but I just got some of her things recently. I found her old books and notes, photos, and a letter addressed to you._

_I don't remember hearing my mom talk about you, sir, but maybe I was too small. I don't know if you two are still friends, or if you had a fight or something, but I hope not. My mom is gone forever now, and I hope her friends will remember the good things about her. So I am sending you her letter and two photos. I hope you don't mind me sending only two photos, but I thought maybe you have those already, and I would like to keep more pictures of my mom._

_Thank you, sir, and I hope you have a good day. _

_Yours sincerely_

_William Joseph Batson_

_PS: I don't think you would want to, but even if you do, please don't write back to the return address; I don't think it will reach me. I don't really have a fixed address, sorry about that."_

Alfred blinked; this was not quite what he expected. The child sounded so genuine and artless. He looked at the yellowing photos carefully, trying to ascertain the expression on young Bruce Wayne's face. What could this old letter from an old… flame, for the lack of a better word, contain? Maybe he will just let Bruce find out for himself. But if there was _any_ chance that this letter contains the kind of claim he expect, waiting for Bruce to deal with it might not be the best plan, especially considering there might be an orphaned child at stake. Alfred sat there, pondering in silence for a long time, before finally reaching for the letter opener with a sigh.

As soon as he opened the age old unsent letter, a small, sealed plastic bag containing a lock of black hair tumbled out. Alfred rubbed his eyes tiredly. God forbid, the small chance this turned out to be _exactly_ what he feared it would be. The letter was not long, but intelligent and heartfelt, with a well-crafted intensity that left no room for disagreement.

_"I wouldn't say what we shared was nothing, Bruce, it would not be fair to either of us. We were two Caucasians in Nepal, we were lonely and we both needed someone, I the overwrought grad student drowning in the grief of someone else's war, and you the billionaire vagabond wandering the world with god-knows-what vendetta on your shoulders. I liked you, and I hope you liked me enough, but we weren't meant for raising a child together. We still aren't. Even if this letter actually reaches you, such will _not_ come to pass. We will _not_ be raising this child together._

_My husband urged me to send this letter, he said a man has right to know of his child, especially when he has done nothing to warrant ignorance. My husband is the best of men and he always tries to do the right thing, so at his urging I am writing this letter. But I still don't know if I will send it. I know you are a family man deep down and you crave for the true love of kinship. Back in Nepal, in those rare moments when you let your guard down and showed me true feelings, I picked up that burning desire in you. I know you want someone on whom to shower your affections and ameliorate your regrets, and a biological son would be such an easy choice, wouldn't it? Almost obligatory. _

_But no, Bruce. I don't want you in my life, and I don't want you in the life of my child. Your intensity always frightened me a little, but this is not really about you. It's simply that my life is perfectly in order right now, and my child already has the most loving family in the world, and I want nothing to interfere with that. I am not ready to have you fight me on this, especially not against the kind of lawyers your fortune can buy._

_I have a distinct feeling this letter will never make its way out of the door, after all._

_But just in case it does, the boy's name is William Joseph Batson. His birthday is January 24, 2001, and he is a healthy six-month old baby. I have included a lock of his hair with the letter. No, you cannot run a DNA test with that hair; if you don't believe my claims, do not contact me for further proof and just let it go. I would be grateful, in fact."_

Alfred put the ten-year old letter down and drew a staggering breath. He suddenly noticed that his hands were shaking. He, Alfred Pennyworth, the ever serene and dependable _rock_ of this dysfunctional household, _he _was shaking. This was simply too much. Bruce would not be able to deal with this, not now, only three days after Damian's death, not even for another few months or _years_. Alfred could not deal with it either, and for one brief minute he was sorely tempted to burn the letter and forget he ever saw such a thing.

The old butler stood up, poured himself a glass of brandy and drank it slowly.

Had the sudden surfacing of this unsent letter been any other way, Alfred would drop the whole issue for some time, give Bruce and himself time to heal and to prepare, before trying to figure out the truth. But something about the letter sounded off enough alarm bells. So the mother passed away three years ago, but why did the child say he only received his mother's things now? What happened? Where is the father (or perhaps he should say, adoptive father)? And most importantly, why does the boy not have a _fixed address_? One can only draw so many conclusions from such details—unhappy foster care, abuse, fallen through the cracks of the system, all that grim reality life has to offer.

After finishing another glass of brandy Alfred fished out a list of private investigators from his desk. These PIs were the top of their trade and came with personal recommendations from his various sources. He spent the rest of the day picking out a name, setting up an appointment, and explaining in a completely detached manner the issue at hand. He spared all details, but since he was requesting the investigation of a minor, the basic skeleton of the story still had to come out. The private investigator, a middle-aged Ms. Lee known for her superior skills and steely discretion, nodded at the end of Alfred's tale.

"This case looks straightforward enough, I will check up on the child," Ms. Lee said in a no-nonsense voice, "I understand the difficulty lies in the need for absolute secrecy, which you can depend on, Mr. Pennyworth. I will report to you in a week of my progress."

In exactly a week's time precise to the minute Alfred was in Ms. Lee's office again, listening to her report.

"William Joseph Batson, son to C. C. Batson, archaeologist, and Marilyn Batson, political scientist, both associate professors at University of Michigan. He was orphaned at age seven when both parents died in an accident at a dig site in Egypt, and lived with the only remaining relative, a cousin of Mr. Batson's, for a while. There are three records of running away from home with the Family court in the span of a year, before he dropped out of the system and was never heard of in records again. I should mention that the Batsons had a fairly flush saving account, but not the proper trusteeship; all their wealth now belongs to Mr. Batson's cousin.

I have tailed the child for the past five days. He lives on the street, delivers newspaper and collects recyclables to support himself, and he still attends school, even if somewhat erratically. Based on my observations I would say he is generally healthy, if slightly malnourished, and I am confident he is not involved with drugs or gang activities. Here is a list of all locations he sleeps at, and a folder containing all files under his name. This is a blood sample I obtained under the guise of a health worker."

Alfred surveyed the neat files and items in front of him, and commented, "You are certainly effective and efficient, Ms. Lee."

The investigator gave a small wave of her hand and said, "As I mentioned when I first heard the case, Mr. Pennyworth, it was quite straight forward." She took a long pause here, before beginning again with a hint of rare hesitation, "Mr. Pennyworth, I hope you will not find my remarks unprofessional and rude, but if I may say so…?"

Alfred nodded and gestured for her to continue.

"I have never seen a child like this one before," Ms. Lee pushed her glasses, "All alone in the world, lost in the urban slum, yet somehow he managed to keep himself afloat and above all the drugs, gangs, and prostitution rings plaguing the underbelly of any city. He is quite the boy scout, and extremely fortunate for remaining one despite everything. I for one would not want to test my luck and see how long he can last."

That evening Alfred went down to the Batcave again, hoping to cajole Bruce out of there and get the DNA analysis started, without Bruce noticing, of course. It was the third day since Bruce sat himself down in front of the computer and began the virtual simulations. He would throw himself into the again and again into the confrontation that killed Damian, trying to find a way to save his little boy. So far Bruce had failed, failed, and failed again. Almost expectedly, Bruce had turned a deaf ear to Alfred's pleas. Sighing, Alfred prepared a fresh pot of tea and some food, placing the tray on a small side table near Bruce, and went into the corner with all the forensics equipment.

The DNA analysis was easy, but the waiting and planning almost too painful to bear. While he sat there in the dark corner of the cave, staring at the machines softly humming, Alfred could not distract himself from the myriad of thoughts that assailed him like a flood. What if this boy really was Bruce's son? Surely he could not let the child continue go on living on the street, but how can he bring another boy into the Wayne manor? Never mind Bruce, even he could not bear it. And the cave, it would not be easy to hide it from someone living in the manor. Now if only the child isn't Bruce's, things would certainly be easier, but perhaps for the sake of Bruce's old friend he should do something about this William boy… So lost in thoughts, Alfred did not even notice Bruce finally emerging from his virtual crusade and walking up behind him.

"Alfred?" Bruce asked, "What are you doing here?"

Alfred stood up hastily and drew a quick breath to reorient himself, before replying in his usual voice, "I see you are finally giving the simulations a rest, Master Bruce."

"I have no plan to starve myself," Bruce said briskly, his brow furrowed, "What exactly are you doing, Alfred? Is that… DNA analysis? What for?"

Just then a ringing sound from the machines behind them signaled the completion of the analysis. The results chart rolled itself across screen automatically. Alfred sneaked a quick glance, and saw the bottom line: **Combined Paternity Index = 730,310; Probability of Paternity: 99.999%**. The old man closed his eyes tiredly for a brief moment.

"Alfred." Bruce said, voice falling back into the Batman growl and blue eyes burning, the shadows under his eyes now seemed even more prominent. He enunciated each word slowly and deliberately, "Alfred, this is a paternity test. I know those alleles numbers on the left are mine. Tell me what is going on."

Alfred sighed again and cleared his throat. "I have received a letter recently, Master Bruce, written a decade ago but never sent out until now, from a woman named Marilyn Batson, nee Ordway," Alfred watched his employer very carefully as he finished the story, "The letter was about her son, who was born on January 24, 2001."


	2. An Unexpected Bullet

AN: Thanks for the wonderful reviews everyone! Enjoy chapter 2. :)

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**Chapter Two: An Unexpected Bullet**

"So when did this come in the mail?" Bruce asked.

Somehow he managed to sound calm even as Alfred handed him the manila envelope from Fawcett City. He pulled out the two photos first, scrutinized them for a couple minutes, before tossing them to the ground with a choked laugh and moving on to the letter written by his former lover.

"A week ago, Master Bruce."

"Right. And when were you planning to tell me this?"

Alfred hesitated for a second, before answering, "Not for a while at least. I didn't think you can handle it well presently; I hoped to deal with this issue alone."

"You are right, I can't handle this well. I can't handle it at all." Bruce said flatly, throwing everything onto the ground as if the paper burned him. He didn't really read everything, only scanned a few lines and then threw them away, face showing barely concealed horror and disgust.

"Master Bruce!" Alfred chided, quickly picking up all the photos and paper and carefully tucking them away in the large envelope. This was the first letter Bruce's _son_ had written him; one day Bruce will realize how important it is, one day he will.

"I lost my son, Alfred, my son. There is no compensation for it, no condolence, nothing! Unless Damian opens his eyes and walks up to me right now, _nothing_ else is going to make it right. _Especially_ not this," His voice went from a growl to a full-throated roar, echoing in the cave like the howl of a wounded wolf, "Not this goddamn _joke_ of an attempt at _providence_!"

Alfred did not speak. The old man watched in sad silence as Bruce vented his steam and stalked back towards his virtual reality, the last place where he could possibly save his son. Bruce almost reached his chair when he suddenly turned around and walked back towards Alfred.

"Where did the boy's DNA sample come from? The hair in the letter wouldn't be usable."

"A private investigator," Alfred answered, "I can assure you of her discretion."

"Why on earth, Alfred? Private investigator? You should know that if I want to look into this, I would look into this myself. One day, eventually. Do you really have a reason for doing this right now? " Bruce's eyes narrowed, and he looked suspicious, annoyed too.

Alfred looked back at Bruce and answered sadly, "Sir, if you bothered to read the letter young William wrote in full, you would see that Mrs. Marilyn Batson passed away three years ago, there is no mention of Mr. Batson, and the boy even said he does not have a _fixed address_."

Bruce stood frozen for a few moments, before he asked in a huff, "So what did the PI find?"

"Only that the child is a orphan. The Batsons' life savings have been robbed by Mr. Batson's cousin, and after running away from home a few times, young William has fallen completely through the cracks of the foster care system. Presently he lives on the street, supports himself by delivering newspaper and collecting recyclables, and attends school erratically. He is healthy enough, only maybe malnourished, and is not involved with drugs and gangs. But as our investigator said, better not test our luck and see how long he can last."

Bruce's fist connected with one of the machines by his side, hard. There was now a dent on the gleaming metal surface and bruises forming on his knuckles. He stood there still like a statue for a good few minutes, before rasping out, "What time is it?"

Alfred pulled out his pocket watch, "Almost 10:30 at night, Master Bruce."

"Get some sleep then," Bruce said brusquely, "We will leave for Fawcett City after I return from patrol."

At three am the highway was wide open, and Bruce Wayne's Lamborghini raced across the pavement like a speeding bullet, the one-hundred eighty mile expanse covered in just over two hours. They pulled into the slums of the inner city in Fawcett just when the eastern sky was turning white. Following the list provided by the private investigator, they checked every place young William Batson could be spending the night. Some of these places were completely empty, others showed some signs of life; at the hidden nook in an abandoned subway station they found two pair of truly faded jeans that looked way too big for a ten-year old boy, a pair of sneakers, and half a dozen identical long-sleeved red tees, everything wrapped in multiple layers of plastic and stacked neatly in a corner. There was also a stash of very carefully hidden granola bars, which required a trained detective's eye like Bruce's to find. The very last location on the list was a small derelict apartment building already sealed off by the City. Parking the Lamborghini right outside the crumbling building, Bruce did not give all the warning signs and even the lack of a _front door_ a second look; he just swatted the official tape away as if they were mere flies, and marched right in.

Bruce always had this natural ability to just melt into whatever role he was playing, without even thinking much about it.

The entire building looked abandoned and empty of human presence, but on the third floor they found a room with a mattress covered by relatively fresh looking sheet. There was a small backpack by the mattress, some paper and pen strewn about, and a half-full water bottle. Bruce walked up to the mattress and frowned at it. Then he pushed it all the way to the wall with his foot and began tapping on the floor board with his patent leather shoe. Only a few seconds later he seemed to have located whatever he was looking for. He bent down and pulled a couple loose boards open, revealing a secret cavity under the floor.

Alfred almost smiled, and clamped his mouth shut before he could say _like father like son_.

Hidden under the floor board were two scrapbooks, one full of old family photos, the other strangely with all newspaper clippings. Bruce picked up the family album and flipped through it stoically, looking at his old lover and a stranger play and laugh with their blue-eyed little baby. No, not just theirs! This was _his_ son. The child was generally too young to look like anyone in those old photos, but certainly those were _his _black hair and blue eyes.

While Bruce was still staring at the photos with a stony face Alfred picked up the other scrapbook, and had to raise an eyebrow. Not only was this scrapbook full of nothing but newspaper clippings, but nearly all of them are articles to do with crimes and corruption in Fawcett City, with a few articles on Captain Marvel, the local superhero who had appeared recently, thrown in for good measure. Now instead of being amused by the _like father like son_ line of thought, Alfred was a little saddened. What did _this_ boy go through, that he was so intent on learning about crime fighting at his age? Was there no escape from this crusade for the House of Wayne?

"Hey, those are _mine_!"

Following the voice, a small form jumped in through the window. As soon as his feet touched floor, he threw his elbow into Bruce's midsection. Bruce deftly avoided the child's elbows, put the scrapbook down on the floor with some care, and still had time to grab the boy's arms. The young boy kicked out viciously at Bruce's knee, but Bruce lifted his leg at the perfect moment and blocked the kick with his shoe.

"That is enough!" Bruce leaned down to give the boy a Bruce Wayne board meeting glare; it was no Bat glare, but still formidable. He was about to say something else, but staring down at the young child's half fearful and half defiant face, he was suddenly frozen to the core.

The boy in front of him looked _just _like Damian. Granted, this William Batson was two shades paler than Damian, and his entire frame quite a bit bonier, but those cerulean eyes, that small, upturned nose, and Bruce's own jaw line—if this boy ever stood beside Damian, no one would doubt that they are blood brothers. _God_, the thought _killed _him.

"Damian," Bruce murmured almost inaudibly.

The child stilled, looking back at the grief-wracked man with uncertainty. The excruciating pain in Bruce Wayne's posture and voice was nearly contagious, and the young boy, who was just a moment ago frightened and bristling, now put his hands on Bruce's arm, almost as if trying to comfort him.

"Sir, uh, I am not Damian," He said quietly, blue eyes filling with sympathy, "Are you looking for Damian? I don't think I know anyone by that name around here. But I can help you look for him if you want. I know a lot of people in this area."

Bruce could not breathe. He stood there, utterly frozen. What was he supposed to say? How would he even _begin_ to explain everything to this boy without breaking down right there? He wanted to cry, to roar, to punch something _hard_, and it took every ounce of his strength to just stand there, still like a statue.

Young William Batson took a small step closer, his small hands holding Bruce's arm firmly. A pair of big blue eyes looked up at Bruce, shining with such genuine warmth and care. Ai, that particular look was so unlike a son of the Dark Knight. Of all those boys growing up beside him, Bruce had only ever seen such an unflinchingly open and warm look from Dick, who inherited his blue eyes from better people than Bruce Wayne or Batman. "Hey, it's okay, sir, I will try my best to help," The child said in a brave and earnest voice, "I am sure you will find Damian. I know this is the bad part of town, but a lot of people here are very nice and helpful! I am sure Damian is fine, and we will find him, sir, we will!"

_Pull. It. Together. _

Bruce told himself, enunciating each word carefully in his head. He was here to rescue this boy, _his son_, from a brutal life on the street. Whatever torment boiling his innards cannot interfere with this task. He must get the child away from this deadly urban slum. His soul be forever damned if he fails yet another son of his! He took a very deep breath, letting the pain wash over him and away like water.

"Gather your things, William," Bruce said curtly, "We are going home."

The boy instantly let go of Bruce's arm and scurried backward like a startled rabbit, his back now against the wall. "What are you talking about? I live here. "

"This is a derelict building sealed off for a reason. You can't stay here." Bruce was trying to keep his arguments short so he can finish this task and just _leave_, with the child in his car, of course.

"You are… You are from the City? Building services?" The boy chewed his bottom lip before mumbling, "I mean, I thought it was okay, nobody comes to this building anymore; I thought no one would mind me here. Okay, that's fine, I can leave. I, I will find somewhere else. Just let me pack." With that he began putting his things in to his pack.

Bruce did not speak, only watched in silence as the child stuffed his backpack with his scrapbooks, papers and pens, the water bottle and finally the sheet. After he shouldered his backpack, the boy gave Bruce one more uncertain look.

"Um, so are we going?"

The child walked between Alfred and Bruce, head bowed and staring down at his sneakers. They made a ridiculously image walking down the dark and crumbling stairwells of the derelict apartment building, two tall, dignified, fabulously dressed men and one bony, grimy street waif. Why, they were the poster image of American inequality, as an activist would say; the entire situation was.

Though there was certainly _some_ advantage to being in a building that was literally falling apart; for example, with the lack of a front door, they could see the dark gun barrels aimed their way when there was still a good distance between them and the nervous but emboldened thugs. Twenty-five feet might not be the ideal distance between one's body and a gun, but it was still better than point blank.

Right, a Lamborghini parked in the slums of inner city, what else should he expect?

Bruce reacted a beat slower than he would have liked. He _always_ reacted a beat slower as simply Bruce Wayne instead of the caped Dark Knight of Gotham. There was _always_ the thought of _should I do it will I expose myself_ flashing through his head, it couldn't be helped. But a beat later he leapt towards the clueless gun-toting idiots, looking fearsome even in his Armani shirt and dress pants. He was still too late, for a gunshot sounded just as his kick sent the offending criminal flying backward.

He did not expect to hear a child's voice scream, "Sha… Ahh!"

Bruce dropped the remaining two thugs and whirled around, a shoe still on a downed man's chest. It was only two seconds, _two seconds_ since he jumped out, by _all that is holy_, nothing should have happened in those two goddamn seconds!

Instead he saw Alfred kneeling on the ground, the boy in his arms, and his jacket bloodstained.

Alfred blinked at him for a few times, and then the old butler said in a cracking voice, "He pushed me away. That bullet should have hit me, but he pushed me away."


	3. An Unavoidable Decision

AN: Thank you very much for the kind reviews, your encouragement means to the world to me :) Hope you all continue to enjoy the story.

PS: Almost forgot to say, the second half of this chapter is based on Batman and Nightwing 23, with some quotes curtsy of Tomasi. Everyone who hasn't read it really should; it is one hell of a comic book and literally made me cry.

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**Chapter 3: An Unavoidable Decision**

"The shot is a clean through and through, Master Bruce, though the exit wound's position is worrying. The bullet might have hit the liver. This certainly will require a trip to the nearest general hospital; I will not hear any argument. He is losing a lot of blood—how close are we?"

Just then the brakes screeched as the hospital building loomed right ahead. Doors slammed, bright lights flickered on, equipment unfolded and hummed, all mingled with an interminable stream of shouting.

"Get the kid an IV line _now_, Ringer's lactate first…"

"Move him to OR…"

"Sir, you have to let the boy _go_, you can't hover here…"

"The heart monitor, is it linked?"

"Blood pressure still dropping! Just _where_ is that blood product? I asked for it _fifteen _minutes ago… Damn it, the kid is type O negative isn't he?"

"That's it, half-dose of dopamine, now!"

A nurse emerged from god-knows where and appeared in the family room. She said breathlessly, "Sir, we had a string of car crash victims coming through last night, and now we don't have enough stored blood components, and the closest general hospital that might have extra is at least an hour away. We don't normally do this, but any chance either of you have type O negative blood?"

"I am type O negative, take all that you need."

This was the first time Bruce spoke since coming out of the abandoned apartment building. His voice was hoarse, a gravelly whisper, and his words came out in a halting slur, as if he had suddenly lost grip of the English language.

"Thank God. Come with me this way then."

The light outside the operation room finally dimmed after almost three hours, which, if anything, should be consoling. Only uncomplicated trauma surgeries turn off the lights in less than three hours—or unsuccessful ones. Seeing the lights go off Bruce stood up also, and by the time the head surgeon returned to his office, Bruce was already sitting there.

"Ah, hi, I am Doctor Frank Mills, I am the head trauma surgeon for the boy you brought in," The doctor looked understanding enough; he offered a tired handshake before continuing, "The hospital has been trying to contact the child's guardian to no avail, and seeing that you brought the kid in, do you know how we might get in touch with the Batsons? And we never did get your name and your relationship to the patient, Mr….?"

"Bruce Wayne."

Doctor Mills blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"The name is Bruce Wayne," Bruce said stonily, "And I am family. Tell me how the boy is doing."

Doctor Mills paged through his papers, before saying with a frown, "We do have a file for this child; he came here once two years ago. His legal guardian is actually the state of Michigan, under the foster care of Mr. Adam Batson. No mention of you, Mr. Wayne. With a gunshot wound like that, we can only release information to legal guardians and the police of course."

"From this day forward his legal guardian will be _me_, unless either the state of Michigan or Mr. Batson care to contest the custody claim of the child's _biological_ father, who also has a team of Skadden lawyers," Bruce's flat voice brooked no dissension, "Now tell me about his condition."

Doctor Mills looked thoroughly stunned and unnerved. He blinked a few times, shook his head with barely veiled disapproval, before replying, "Alright, here is the situation, Mr. Wayne. The bad news, the bullet did graze the liver, and tore up a lot of blood vessels; the good news is that it is only type II injury on the liver, generally considered minor, and we have all internal bleeding under control. He is stable now, but he will need to be under strict observation for a few days, to ensure there are no further complications."

Bruce Wayne did not even blink, his face rigid like a mask of marble. He only asked, "Can he be moved to another facility?"

Doctor Mills shook his head and replied, "No, I would strongly advise against it, for the next two days at the very least. If he looks stable enough on the third day, we can consider moving him to another hospital, or home care. If you are actually serious about becoming the boy's guardian, Mr. Wayne, can't you spare a few days to see him through this first?"

The last question came as a challenge as well as an accusation, but Bruce was too tired to react. He only asked, "May I see him now?"

When Bruce and Alfred came into the sickroom young William Batson was sleeping peacefully, deep inside a drug-induced slumber. He was still connected to the myriad of machines around him, an IV line for blood transfusion attached to his thin arm, and an oxygen mask covering his mouth. The boy's face was so pale, which only accentuated the gauntness of his cheeks and the shadows under his eyes, and the rows of thick dark lashes that would have been adorable on any other child but only managed to look out of place on him.

Bruce stood there for a long time, staring down at the sleeping child, before he said in a low voice without ever moving a muscle, "I can't do this, Alfred."

Alfred sighed in silence. "Which part? Facing the incoming media frenzy, explaining your story to young William, or welcoming another son into your home, Master Bruce?"

The old Englishman saw Bruce start and knew he hit a very raw nerve. But he did not regret his rare case of bluntness. They could not walk away from this boy now; there was little time left to coddle Bruce's wounds.

Bruce stood in stony silence for a while longer, before pulling out his phone and sending a couple text messages. "I have contacted people at Wayne Industries," He said, "Told them to send over a team of lawyers and PR specialists. They will sort out the boy's custody issues and get him back to Gotham when he can be moved." With that he stuffed his phone into his pocket and turned to leave.

"And where are you going, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked sternly.

"Home. My dark undisturbed corner in the cave. Alfred, just give me a couple days, there's still a couple days," A note of despair cracked through the billionaire's voice, "I can't do this right now, I _can't_."

With that he stormed out of the sickroom and fled Fawcett City like a common fugitive.

Bruce threw himself back into the virtual world with extra vehemence. Seeing Damian's face inside the virtual world once more, even a hollow, untouchable reconstruction of it, still hurt like a knife to the guts. He was still failing, again and again, and there was a few times when he thought he could see _another_ child's blue eyes staring at him from Damian's face, boring into his very soul, before Heretic's sword would impale _his son_ with a sort of irrefutable finality. He could not save him, Bruce realized, he could not save _any_ of them, not Damian, not Jason, not even Tim and Dick, and no way in hell could he save _William_.

He could not be a father.

Already numb from all the pain and the regret, too numb to stand up and rejoin the world of the living, Bruce sank into this impossible task without ever surfacing to even take a breath of fresh air. It was impossible, so he would die trying; it all made sense, so simplistically appropriate.

Bruce did not know how much time had passed when he heard light footsteps behind him. His concentration was still fixed on his virtual mission and he simply let the newcomer approach. It was just Dick; the young man was careful to trip the necessary alarms and let himself be seen as he came in. Bruce only spoke when he noticed Dick standing directly behind him, staring down at him and the screen.

"So I suppose the news broke? Is that why you came?"

There was a slight hesitation before Dick answered, "Yes, Bruce, I heard about Fawcett City and I talked to Alfred briefly, that's why I came."

"Alfred's sending-in-the-cavalry tactic is getting old," Bruce muttered.

"Bruce, I…"

"No, can it, Dick," Bruce cut in, "I don't need that conversation right now. And I am not ready to give this up, not yet. There has to be a way."

There was another pregnant pause, before Dick asked, "Is this thing two player?"

Bruce paused for even longer. Of all things he expected to hear from Dick, this was not it. At last he said, "It can be."

"Alright," Dick pulled up a chair beside him and threw a pair of virtual vision glasses over his face.

Dick did all of this without even the slightest hint of awkwardness, as if jumping into virtual reality to try to save the dead and passed son of his mentor was the most natural thing in the world. There was no hesitation, no judgment, not even empathy or sympathy, only his usual earnestness and his unfailing trust in his mentor. Bruce gave him a quick look, and had to bite back the sudden desire to reach out and grasp Dick's hand.

And this time Bruce—nay, _they—_did not fail. As the scene cleared, Heretic was down, and Damian stood before them, battered and bloody but his blue eyes still shining bright behind the smashed lenses of his mask.

"Now we go after my mother," the virtual Damian said in his normal smug voice, a smirk on his face, even as his image was becoming more and more transparent.

"This did less than I thought it would do," Batman said in a hollow voice, hands on Damian's non-existent small shoulders, "He's gone, left behind a black hole that can't be filled…"

Dick removed his glasses and looked at his mentor with a gentle light in his eyes. "He left something _tangible_ behind, a father who loved him and a son who loved his father, a beloved little brother to _all_ of his siblings." Here Dick paused a moment, before squaring his shoulders, and his blue eyes gaining a new intensity, "I know you haven't accepted your loss yet; it is too much to ask, I know. But please turn this loss, this tragedy, into something good—something better. Not just for your sake and his, but for all the people of Gotham, and _one more_ who _needs_ you right now."

Bruce did not speak for a long time and the two of them sat there facing each in dead silence. After what seemed like forever Bruce finally muttered in a low bitter voice, "I don't know if I can. Perhaps I can live with Damian's death, but I will never accept it, and I will only drive others away. This boy, he looks just like Damian, and I won't be able to see past that. I will want to avoid his presence, flee from his face and voice." By God, he had already failed Jason and still could not own up to it, he would only fail again with yet another child.

"No one said it will be easy, but you realize, Bruce, that kid doesn't have any bright prospect if you don't at least try? And perhaps…" Dick took a deep breath, "Will you let me help? I lost a partner too, and a little brother. I will do everything in my power to protect my new brother. Like you, I never want to repeat that regret, ever."

Bruce sighed and finally stood up. "I suppose I should return to Fawcett City, and you should go back to whatever you were doing. You shouldn't get involved with Bruce Wayne's tabloid stories. I appreciate the offer, and you can come around for dinner anytime, just stay out of this mess for now."

Seeing Bruce made ready to leave, Dick began hesitantly, "Wait, there is one more thing I thought I should talk to you about. When the boy comes to the manor, will you, I mean…"

Bruce half turned. "Will I what?"

Dick stilled, before shaking his head and murmuring, "Never mind, we can talk about this later."

"There is nothing to talk about," Bruce tossed his towel and said in a very flat voice, "William won't be my partner or yours, or _anyone_'s. He will be strictly upstairs. I can't lose another son. I won't."

Dick winced at Bruce's retreating backs and sighed. Like _that_ was _ever_ going to work.


	4. An Untenable Promise

**AN: Thanks to everyone for those lovely reviews! I enjoyed reading them so much. And yes, I so want to crack that Bat-son joke at some point; I will find an appropriate moment for it despite the somber mood! XD**

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"He is _not _my real father, he can't be," Hands waving about madly, young William Batson repeated for the umpteenth time since he awoke from his drug-induced sleep and heard the general drift of the story, "My dad may be dead, but I still remember him! His name was C. C. Batson, he was a great archaeologist, spoke fluent Arabic and could read Hieroglyphics, and he really loved my mom and me, he… _Ouch_!" For all his determination the boy's voice was already weak, and the spirited arguing did little to help his injuries. His wild gestures pulled a wrong muscle, and he doubled over in pain, instinctively reaching for his injury.

"Master William!" An alarmed Alfred grabbed the boy's hand, trying to make the child sit still, "Excuse me for being blunt, but you have a hole in your side, young master; you cannot move about gesturing like this! Why don't you lie down and catch some more sleep? We can talk about all this later, how is that?"

"But Mr. Alfred, this…"

"Lie down first, and keep your hands still!" Alfred said in a very stern voice, "We will only have this discussion if I am sure you are not in any danger of pulling the stitches and injuring yourself further."

Alfred's voice did its magic, as the small boy lied down again, trying his best to keep still, though he was still eyeing the old butler with a pleading look. Alfred sighed and tried again, "Master William, as I told you before, the old letter your mother wrote and that you so kindly forwarded to Master Bruce contained the truth from her own hand. She told Master Bruce you are his son and even included your baby hair in the letter. We have already performed a paternity test, and DNA analysis shows Master Bruce is indeed your real father. We are a hundred percent certain on this point. Do you know what DNA analysis is, young man?"

"I have seen it on TV; I guess it works, but…" The boy mumbled, "But mom never even mentioned Mr. Wayne's name! I mean Mr. Bruce Wayne is really famous, and I know he is probably a good man, I know he funds Batman and Justice League and all that. If my mom really was so close to him, so close that he is my real father, why didn't mom ever even mention his name? Like, never!"

Alfred raised an eyebrow. The first thing the child mentioned about Bruce Wayne was the funding source for Batman and Justice League? The keen interest in crime-fighting and superheroics was indeed very real! Pushing aside the troubling thought, Alfred answered patiently, "Your mother met Mr. Wayne in Nepal; she was doing fieldwork for her graduate studies there and Mr. Wayne was simply traveling. You might not know this, but at the time Nepal was embroiled in civil war. Due to the nature of her studies, your mother chased after conflicts, and Mr. Wayne was simply good at finding trouble as a young man. Perhaps it was the necessity of the situation that they became close and even had a child, but certainly your mother stated clearly in her letter that she did not love Mr. Wayne and she wanted no disruption to her life. She loved Mr. Batson and you very, very much, Master William, and judging by her letter, Mr. Batson loved you too, even though he knew the truth all along."

The boy's big blue eyes looked watery. He dragged one hand across his eyes and said, "Yes sir, my parents loved me very much, I never doubt it, even though they left me behind."

Alfred took the boy's hand and said gently, "You had the most loving parents in the world, a very happy family. If Master Bruce had discovered the truth a few years ago, he would have respected your mother's wishes and watched quietly from afar. But it is different now, Master William, you are all alone in the world, so please let us take care of you."

The boy was chewing on his lip again. He didn't speak, but his reluctant expression was easy enough to read. While he looked somewhat mollified about the sudden appearance of a _biological father_, he clearly did _not_ want to be taken care of, certainly not by them.

"Think about your parents, Master William," Alfred cajoled, "Would they not be sad watching you live like this, out on the street, constantly in danger, and without a warm bed and a good meal? Surely they will be happy knowing there is a home for you."

The boy only shook his head and answered slowly, "I live here in Fawcett City, I… I can't just get up and leave. I have things to do here. I have _responsibilities_. My dad would never forgive me if I just got up and _abandoned_ everything here." His voice has gained a new edge, determined and steely, and his stern expression now the mask of a _soldier_. It was subtle, but Alfred had seen such a look before, on the face of Master Bruce and on the faces of his many "children". He frowned, and felt worry worming its way into his heart. No child should wear that look. Are the streets of Fawcett City truly so terrifying and defining? If that was the case, they must get the boy _out_ now.

So Alfred tried again, "Master William, you are very young, only ten years old. Don't you think your biggest responsibilities should be eating healthy meals, attending school, playing, and growing up big and strong? Wouldn't that be what you parents want to see?"

"You don't have to talk to me like that," The boy bit back sharply.

For a terrifying moment Alfred saw Damian's eyes look back at him, two pools of blue fire. William did not have Damian's overbearing arrogance, but he was certainly _confident_, and there was a sliver of impatience hanging at the corner of pursed lips, as if he was tired of speaking to someone who simply would not _understand_. Damian often wore that look when speaking of his mother. And the fierce light in the boy's eyes was almost exactly the same as Damian's. It was heartbreak all over again. Even Alfred was beginning to waver: the prospect of raising Damian's _brother_ suddenly seemed much more terrifying than first envisioned.

Unlike Damian, William then had the good grace to blush a little, embarrassed by his own attitude. He added quietly, "I am sorry, Mr. Alfred, I know you mean well. It's just that I am not like most other kids my age; I am resourceful enough to live on the street and generally get by, right? I have seen more of the world, the good and the bad, than most grown-ups… Well, I mean, more than most teenagers or young people at least?" The young boy blushed again, but continued on with determination, "The point is, I have a place in this world, and that's right here in Fawcett City. I have so many things I need to do. I can't really live with Mr. Wayne, it won't work out."

"Whatever your self-appointed crusade is, I won't hinder you."

Following the deep baritone voice, Bruce Wayne walked in. He was still dressed in his impeccable Armani shirt and dress pants, a gleaming tablet computer in hand, looking ever the sharp businessman, but his eyes were blood shoot, as if he hadn't closed them for a long time.

"Hi William, how are you doing?" Bruce was trying to be cordial and more parent-like, but the question still came out curt and unfeeling, and there was no smile on his face.

"Er, hi, Mr. Wayne," The boy answered awkwardly, "Thanks… Thank you for visiting me. I am doing fine, I guess. I am not really feeling any pain, as long as I don't move, that is."

Bruce pulled up a chair and sat down next to the child's bed. Putting the tablet on his lap, he began, "I did a little research on you as I drove into Fawcett City, William. I noticed you are quite the Santa's little helper for the Occupy Fawcett movement. How did you come to know the informal leader Dudley H. Dudley so well? You are running errands for him all across the city."

The young boy flushed scarlet this time and would have shot up to a sitting position and probably injure himself further if it weren't for Bruce's hand on his shoulder. "How… How did you find out? I was really careful not to be in any picture or talk to any press people!" He whispered.

"I am a good researcher and I have my sources," Bruce waved a hand dismissively, before asking with a curious expression, "Why _are_ you trying to not be seen? Surely you cannot be ashamed; you think it is the right thing to do."

"Yeah, but the whole thing would not look so good with a _little street kid_ running around doing things. It is supposed to be about honest, hard-working people asking for fair treatment, and I probably don't come off as an honest, hard-working person. I mean, I am a homeless kid skipping school. But I do want to help, it is a good cause." The boy shrugged; his reply sounded just a touch surly, but mostly it was filled with self-deprecating humor.

Bruce's left hand clenched, and he asked, voice sharper than intended, "Is that why you don't want to come to live with me? Because your involvement in the Occupy movement? You consider me the one percent? Even if you want to pursue activism, it should come after having a decent meal and a roof over your head, _and_ good education. I would not hinder you from pursuing a good cause, never. In any case, the Fawcett City police recently cracked down on all the protestors' camps. Even if the movement continues somehow, it would not require a little boy like yourself running errands across town."

The boy stared up at Bruce Wayne. There was an ironic gleam in his blue eyes, and it almost looked like he was about to bark out a wisecrack comment, but instead he only said, "I have other things to do as well, here in Fawcett City."

Bruce breathed a very small sigh and asked in a softer voice, "Like finding your mother's lost research?"

"How did you know about _this_ one?"

"I know everything," Bruce said simply, "I heard about the big research your mother was doing from her own lips, and have heard hints about it from friends in academia and in government. It was going to be a groundbreaking project when it came to full light, except it never did. You mentioned in your letter that you just found some of your mother's things recently, so I thought perhaps you also noticed something missing. Your mother's research is very important, it needs to be found, but this is not something you can do on your own; this is a job for the professionals. I plan on hiring private investigators and using my contacts in the FBI."

This time the boy did not speak, only looked at Bruce, expression softer but still guarded. Father and son stared at each other in silence for a few moments, before Bruce began again in a gruff but remarkably candid voice that was in truth closer to Batman than the mask named Bruce Wayne, "Listen, William, I am not telling you all this to bribe you into my home. That particular issue is _not _up for negotiation. I am your _biological father_ and your legal guardian; I will _not_ leave you to the mercy of inner city slumlords. You are coming home with me. But I do want you to know that I am not trying to remake your life completely. There will be changes for you, certainly, but only good ones. Those noble things you want to pursue, I will only help you. As you said yourself, I fund the Batman and the Justice League already; you can count me in to help another boy do good things for the world."

Another long silence, and then young William Batson asked in a very small but hopeful voice, "Do you promise? If I want to do good things, will you always help me? Always?"

"Yes," Bruce Wayne replied swiftly.

Finally the boy smiled, nearly beaming, and he reached out and put his hand on Bruce's arm. His touch was almost as firm and warm as when he was back in that derelict apartment, reaching out instinctively and trying to console Bruce over Damian. "Thank you very much, Mr. Wayne," The child said, "I will think about it."

"Think about it?" Bruce actually felt amused by the boy's stubborn independence, but his expression showed more sternness than amusement, "I did say your homecoming is not up for negotiation."

"I… I guess. I mean, I will think about how to live in Gotham, sir," The boy muttered.

Bruce put a hand on the boy's head and carefully smoothed over the child's raven locks. It was also a new effort for him; he was not one to show affection through physical gestures, and Damian would look at him as if he had grown a second head if he ever tried to arrange Damian's hair. But William looked like someone who would appreciate the gesture. "Why don't you get some more sleep, William," He said softly, "Your body needs a lot of rest."

The boy nodded, and after a moment of hesitation he said, "Um, you can call me Billy, Mr. Wayne. Everyone calls me Billy."

"Right, now get some sleep, Billy."

Bruce watched as Alfred coaxed some more water and medicine into Billy, before leaving the room with Alfred. Once they were standing outside the boy's sickroom, Bruce noticed that Alfred was wearing a somber frown on his face. The older man seemed both wary and disappointed.

Bruce reviewed his actions quickly, before asking, "What? I thought I did alright in there?"

"Master Bruce," The butler said slowly, "You said to the little boy in there that so long as he wishes to do good you will help him. That is a serious promise, Master Bruce, one that will have unforeseen consequences. "

Bruce shrugged, but the motion did not quite dispel all the tightness of his shoulders. "His mother's case I should have looked into long ago. Marilyn's research is about forecasting _accurately _political instabilities; it has unimaginable impact. Her work needs to be made public, instead of sitting in the hands of the select few with ulterior motives, like it is probably doing right now. And as for the boy's stint with the Occupy movement, that's a non-issue. He can be a champion for distributive justice if he wants, I don't need to stop him there."

"You don't need to stop him there, but what about _elsewhere_?" Alfred asked pointedly, "What if the boy wishes to do good the way _you_ do, Master Bruce?"

"No," Bruce spun around abruptly, "_No_. He will be _strictly_ upstairs. He won't even come close to the crossroad, never mind actually going down that path. You _will _help me shield him from _all_ of it, that's an order, Alfred."

_We all wish it is that simple_, Alfred mused sadly.


	5. An Unheralded Return

**AN: Thank you every one for the reviews! Here is another chapter, hope you enjoy. :)**

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Only three days after waking up, Billy was looking like an inmate. The boy would stare longingly out the small window of his hospital room, even though all he could see was a patch of sky, usually grey, and maybe a sparrow flitting by if he was damn lucky. By now the paparazzi almost had the hospital surrounded, and Bruce was finding it difficult to get in and out of the hospital, and many times he was sorely tempted to resort to Batman techniques. So on the fourth day, when doctors finally signed the release paper, everyone was quite relieved, even if Bruce had the carry the boy out the hospital in his arms and wade through a crowd of cameras and recorders like a soldier braving open fire.

For the first few days in the Wayne Manor Billy seemed like a perfectly ordinary child. Given the boy's injury and the lingering media frenzy Bruce and Alfred kept Billy at home, letting him explore the manor and getting used to his new lifestyle. Dick came over a few times to talk to his newest "brother", and Tim, despite being still on the other side of the continent, did send a well-mannered if very tentative email in greeting through Alfred. Billy was more than happy to get to know Dick, and proved nearly just as chatty as the once circus brat. He also wrote Tim a gushing email in return once he figured out how to use the computer in his room and how to set up an email account. He only seemed a little unusual in his exploring. For all his wide-eyed wonder he worked with a methodical care that seemed entirely out of place.

"He is mapping the security cameras and sensors on the manor grounds, the little brat," A few days later Bruce commented darkly with a stormy expression on his face. Bruce hadn't spent much time talking with his new found child in those few days, opting for silent observation from unseen corners when it was not too painful, and he did not like what he saw.

Alfred sighed and replied, "Yes, that seems like what he is doing, but Master Bruce, I hope you _will _hold off putting cameras in his room and tracer on every piece of his clothing until at least he has given you a very good reason to do so."

Bruce pursed his lips, but his silence only a partial acquiescence. The next day when Dick came to visit, he brought his little brother a smartphone and was eager to show the boy how to use this shiny new gadget.

"Just something to help you find us wherever you are," Dick explained, "You have everyone in the family on speed dial: 1 is for Alfred, 2 is for Bruce, and dial 3 you will find me; 4 is for Barbara, you haven't met her yet but you will; she is my best friend and one very tough girl! So whenever you need us, whatever you need us for, just press a key and we will be there. Though you should always call Alfred first; the rest of us are useless compared to him!"

"And you guys can track me through it right?" Billy asked.

"Exactly!" Dick was mildly uncomfortable that the Billy saw through the ploy so easily, but he did not let his true sentiments be known, only added, "This way we won't ever worry ourselves sick about you; we will always know where you are."

"That is really cool!" Billy said in a bright and happy voice, seemingly at ease with the idea of being tracked, "Is there any way I can track you guys through the phone too? It would be nice to always know where you guys are, so I can always find you if any of you ever need help."

Dick raised an eyebrow, not too sure what to make of such a declaration. Do most ten-year olds think about tracking and protecting their families? So Dick put a hand on the little boy's head and mussed up his hair, saying with a laugh, "Now that's rich! You are ten years old, Billy. If any of us ever run into any trouble, we certainly wouldn't want you come running after us and getting stuck in the same trouble!"

"But I…" Billy gave his big brother a very small frown, but then decided to change the subject and asked, "Okay. And how do I set up alarm clocks on this? I really need an alarm clock; it's really hard waking up early for school!"

"You too, huh? Here, watch. So when do you want to wake up? You know you can also set your phone with all sort of alarms and reminders."

"Really? What about websites' updates?"

"Depending on the kind of websites. What do you have in mind?"

"Like the Gotham police or emergency response website? I know we had one in Fawcett City."

Dick raised both eyebrows in surprise this time. Really, what was up with the kid? He did first set up the phone to receive police station alerts, before asking in a casual voice, "So why would you want to set up something like that, Billy?"

"Well, you know," The boy really sounded as if setting up your phone with police alerts is the most natural thing int he world, "I lived in the bad parts back in Fawcett City, so it helps a lot to receive all the police alerts; you want to when a dangerous situation comes up."

"What kind of dangerous situations are we talking about here?"

"Gang wars, shootings, robbery standoffs, I don't know, the usual stuff?" The boy offered another shrug, and then seeing the look of horror and disbelief on Dick's face he quickly added, "Oops, sorry, that came out wrong. It really doesn't happen often! But it's helpful to know if there is a shooting, so you can avoid the area and avoid the police or other bad guys, stuff like that."

Dick put his hands on the small boy's shoulders and looked him in the eyes. "Listen, Billy, all that is going to change," Dick said in a very serious voice, "You don't have to worry about any of that now. We will keep you safe, we all will, I swear it."

Billy nodded and mumbled with a small embarrassed smile, "Thanks, Dick, but it's okay. I mean, it's not like I really lived in danger back in Fawcett City. There were so many nice people where I lived! And so many people who helped me out. Fawcett is actually a pretty nice city, really."

At that Dick smiled as well, "Hey, it's great that you appreciate the people who helped you. I am sure most of the people in Fawcett are nice. Gotham too! I know it has a bit of a bad name, but there are so many great people and so many heroes here in Gotham."

"Totally! Like Batman! And Nightwing too. Oh oh and I heard there is a Batgirl too, though some people say she is more like an urban legend, but it would be _totally_ cool if there is a _Batgirl_. Do you know if she is real, this Batgirl? And it's too bad Nightwing isn't in the Justice League, I think he would fit in!"

The boy's enthusiasm made Dick laugh. "Wow, slow down, squirt; don't get too excited. Now listen here, Batman and Nightwing might be cool, but don't go running off looking for them, alright? They only ever show up in places no one really wants to go in any case."

Billy nodded and looked back at his big brother with a lop-sided grin, blue eyes sparkling, a look that seemed to guarantee mischief. _Uh oh_, Dick thought, but could not stop himself from laughing and messing up the boy's hair once again.

Once Dick left, Billy returned to playing with his phone with gusto. Copying what Dick did, he set up alerts for updates from the Fawcett City police website, and also tried to set up alerts for certain keywords from major global news outlet. He was immensely proud of the fact he only had to go to Alfred for help once to accomplish the whole task, even if Alfred gave him a long, curious look. Technically Billy's standard-issue Justice League communicator could do all of that, but he always kept his League device hidden until he was actually Captain Marvel, so the League would not be able to track Billy Batson. As much as he respected and trusted and positively idolized each and every member of the League, he still wanted to keep his true ten-year old identity to himself. Having another gadget that will alert Billy Batson whenever he is needed would definitely be helpful.

It didn't occur to Billy that he should get an alert that very night, but the alarm sound from the phone nearly frightened him out of his very large bed.

After waking up proper, he groaned before reaching for the phone, eyeing it blearily and trying to see what was wrong. The headline on the screen read, "Major fire at Fawcett downtown east side, three apartment buildings aflame; firefighters on scene, families still trapped."

"Holy moly," The boy whispered, now all sleepiness gone.

It was as good a time as any to test how well he had mapped out Wayne Manor's security cameras.

With a muted cry of "Shazam", small and frail Billy Batson changed into Earth's Mightiest Mortal. Calling down the lightning indoor seemed sketchy, but the room was big, and it was still safer than having all those cameras outside catch a stroke of lightning on a perfectly cloudless night. Captain Marvel opened the sliding glass door that led from his room to the large balcony and stepped out. Very carefully, with his back against the wall, he pulled the door close again but left it unlocked. He had tested this with various props before, and he was sure that even someone of the Captain's size could stay hidden from the first camera at the other end of the balcony as long as he kept his back to the wall. Once the door was closed all he had to do was fly away at a speed fast enough to defeat all cameras and motion sensors.

Captain Marvel reached the burning buildings in Fawcett City only a blink of an eye later. A few seconds later he appeared before an ambulance with two young girls in his arms and an older boy hanging on his neck.

"Parents still inside, going back in, be right back!" Captain Marvel said after the emergency workers secured the children and quickly disappeared into the flaming building once more, quite oblivious to the applause and triumphant shouting that suddenly broke out among the onlookers.

The whole rescue mission took quite a bit longer than what the Captain anticipated. There were more than two dozen people still caught in the three buildings when Captain Marvel arrived on scene, and it was not an easy task extracting them all, especially considering once he had those frightened and possibly injured people in his arms, he could no longer move about so freely and so fast. Fawcett City's paltry emergency service was way overtaxed again, and there simply weren't enough ambulances to take everyone to the hospital, so Captain Marvel ended up having to serve as hospital transport as well. When finally all people have been saved and the fire put out, the red clad hero gave a satisfied sigh. All in a good night's work for Captain Marvel!

He decided to do a round of patrol in Fawcett City, since he was already here and the police and other emergency response teams in Fawcett were probably overwhelmed this night. But it was generally quiet, only a couple minor gang fights to break up, and just as Captain Marvel prepared to head back to Gotham, he saw a large LED billboard screen glare back at him with a curt and tense message.

"Come on up now; we need to _talk_. –C"

"Oops," The Captain murmured and made a face.

He should have realized, he wasn't completely alone in this hero business anymore. If you drop off all communications and become invisible to all surveillance for days on end, your allies and friends will worry.

"Better bring some major peace offering," Captain Marvel murmured to himself, and made a beeline for Gotham, his new home.


	6. An Unfortunate Situation

**AN: Another chapter, hope everyone enjoys! The mysterious messenger "C" from last chapter is revealed, and yes, I am stealing ideas from the Justice League: War animated movie that is actually still in production. **

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It was only another second, and Captain Marvel was standing on the balcony outside his room again, carefully positioned to be out of the sight of security cameras. He pushed the unlocked sliding door open, went into his room, and promptly called down the thunderbolt of the Shazam.

Young Billy took a couple seconds to breathe, before pushing open the great wooden door of his room and tiptoeing into the hall. What he did not expect was the black mass of Titus, the resident Great Dane, curled up just a dozen feet ahead, taking up nearly half of the corridor. The enormous dog seemed to be sleeping with his head on his front paws.

"Oh boy," Billy murmured. His tiptoeing became even more exaggerated as he tried to sneak past the dog noiselessly.

But just as Billy walked by the dog, Titus rose from his slumber and eyed the little boy, then gave a lazy wag of his tail.

"Good boy, don't bark and wake up Mr. Wayne and Alfred, alright?" Billy whispered to the dog, "I am just heading down to the kitchen to grab some food. If you are a good boy and don't bark I will share some with you! How is that, Titus?"

The Great Dane cocked his head, eyeing Billy with what almost looked like a smirk. When Billy started walking towards the kitchen once more the dog followed, tail wagging all the while. Well, at least the dog was quiet, Billy told himself. But when the boy and the dog passed Bruce Wayne's room, Titus suddenly started barking, _loudly_.

"Titus!" Billy cried, aghast. He put a hand on the dog's head and scratched, pleading, "Come on, boy, don't wake up Mr. Wayne!"

Titus was wagging his tail enthusiastically and eyeing Billy with this little _conspiratorial _spark in his eyes. He only barked louder.

"Oh come on," Billy eyed the dog glumly, wondering if this silly creature ever got Damian in trouble the same way, "We are _so_ going to talk about your dog when you get back, brother mine."

But when Mr. Wayne did not appear from behind the door to question him with a stern face Billy had to blink. Why wasn't Mr. Wayne up? Surely he could not have slept through Titus's obnoxious barking right outside his door. Unless that door was actually soundproof? Or maybe Mr. Wayne was in trouble, drunk or even hurt, so he couldn't wake up? Now worried, Billy pushed open the door to Bruce's bedroom and reached for the light switch.

The master bedroom turned out to be completely empty. The fancy bedspread did not have a single wrinkle, the pillows perfectly fluff and smooth, everything was spotless but also looked untouched for a long time. Billy stared at the dead emptiness for a few seconds, then he turned off the light, closed the door, and went to look for Alfred. He was completely unprepared to find Alfred's room also empty.

What was going on? How come he was the only one in the manor, where did Alfred and Mr. Wayne go? Maybe he should try calling them on his new phone? Billy hesitated, but after a few moment's pondering he shook his head. There was no sign of any trouble inside the manor; Mr. Wayne and Alfred were probably just off doing adult business. After all, the head of Wayne Industries must be really busy. In any case, Billy really had to sort out his own business too; he couldn't let his friends and allies worry about him indefinitely. So the young boy continued on to the kitchen. He took the remaining two squares of Alfred's special coffee cake out of the fridge and packed them in a fancy box, before returning to his room. Now peace offering in hand, it was time to make quite a few apologies.

When Captain Marvel arrived at the Watchtower Cyborg was _not_ happy.

"Seriously, Captain Marvel?" With enough frustration and worry, the usually serene young man had no problem lecturing a much older looking hero, "Hiding your League communicator and just disappearing off the grid for good? Ten days without a single word? The League respects your identity and your privacy, we really do, but we need to know you are alright! You can't just cut off all communication links and disappear from _every single camera_ on the face of the planet! We are all really worried about you, Captain. Please don't do that to us again. Even Batman gives me a few back shots on various city surveillance cameras so I know he is not dead or dying. Give me at least that much, alright?"

Captain Marvel was looking wholly chagrined, like a small boy caught being naughty. When Cyborg stopped to take a breath he quickly extended his hands, "I am really sorry, Cyborg, really, really sorry! Here, um, peace offering?"

Already Cyborg's expression was a shade softer. He eyed the food box and asked, "What is it?"

"Only the _best_ coffee cake money can't buy!" Captain Marvel beamed at Cyborg, before adding, "Look, Cyborg, I am truly sorry for making you worry, I really didn't mean to! I ran into a bit of trouble in the past few days, that's all; I couldn't really make contact or even be seen without leaking my identity. But it's all good now."

"What happened? That sounds like big trouble." Cyborg was looking alarmed again.

"Oh, it's not the usual kind of trouble," Captain Marvel explained hastily, "It's my trouble, like, personal stuff, family stuff. Apparently I have a _real _dad I never even heard of before, that kind of stuff. It's been… a little weird. Argh, let's not talk about it, Cyborg." Here the mighty hero sighed, and a sulking look stole over his handsome features.

"Yeah, er, sorry to hear that, hope everything works out for you," Cyborg said with a small wince and ample awkwardness.

Captain Marvel has been an invaluable addition to the Justice League; anyone with Superman's strength, Flash's speed, and rich knowledge of magic would be an extremely useful ally. While his childishness seemed odd at times for someone so powerful and regal, everyone in the League liked him for his youthful exuberance and unending cheer. Yet Captain Marvel remained the well-liked stranger. It might be because he was a late comer and hadn't yet gone through a life-and-death situation with the rest of the League, or perhaps it was the hero politely informing the League his secret identity will never see the light of day, or it might even be his excessive boyishness, but whatever it was, he did not mix well most of the time. Only Cyborg shared a connection and a tentative friendship with the mythical hero; it was easy for them to talk and laugh together. Cyborg secretly thought Captain Marvel was probably closer to his own age rather than to Batman's age, which was what the Captain looked like.

But even at the best of times Cyborg could not claim to really _know_ Captain Marvel. Now that the Captain mentioned family trouble, Cyborg was at a total loss as to how to respond. Good thing the Captain didn't want to talk about it either.

"Hey Cyborg, why don't you try some of that coffee cake? It's really good I promise! And it took me quite a bit of work to get it for you!"

Captain Marvel sounded cheerful again, as if he didn't just blurt out something about finding a father. Rather he was eyeing Cyborg with his typical grin. Cyborg smiled too and opened up the box.

"Oh my god, this really is the best coffee cake I have ever had!"

"I told you so! Um, now that you are in a better mood, there is something else I need to tell you,."

"Yeah? Come on out with it, I think the cake is going to make up for any trouble you can possibly cause."

"Oh, I really hope so," Captain Marvel shrugged in a rather helpless manner, before saying, "Okay, so the thing is, because of all the personal family stuff, I kind had to move, to another city, I mean. To be honest, I didn't want to leave Fawcett City, not at all! But yeah, I didn't get much of a say in that whole thing."

"But you still responded to the fire in Fawcett City, right?"

"Yeah, I set up an alarm system on a personal phone; if there is any big bad in Fawcett, I will definitely be there. I move fast anyway."

"So that works out, right?" Cyborg was a little confused why the Captain thought this was serious, or maybe the cake was really that good as to turn off all the alarm bells in his system—he took another big bite.

"The only thing is, I moved to Gotham."

_Oh_.

Cyborg froze and stared at Earth's Mightiest Mortal.

"Does Batman know?" Cyborg asked with a new found urgency, "Damn it, of course he knows; Bats knows everything."

"But you didn't know, and you can tap every single camera on the face of the planet; how would he know before you do?" Captain Marvel pointed out, "In any case, I have only been in Gotham for a few days, haven't appeared there as Captain Marvel yet, so I really don't think Batman knows."

"And can you promise that Captain Marvel will never make an appearance in Gotham?"

"What? But, but," Captain Marvel wrinkled his nose in his typical boyish way and said, "I don't know, what if people need my help? Gotham has lots of crime, even with Batman and Nightwing and whoever else. And it's not just me there. What if my family needs help? I know Batman doesn't like other superheroes in his city, but helping people is more important than keeping Batman happy, right?"

Cyborg gave him a long, serious look and then had to concede, "Yeah, of course you are right. If your help is needed of course you should do something. But this is still going to be tense."

Captain Marvel hesitated for a few moments, before asking, "Do you think I should maybe tell Batman? About me moving to Gotham? I mean, if he knows I am there, maybe he won't be upset if he sees me in his city?"

Cyborg shook his head, "If he knows that you are in his city, he simply wouldn't rest until he knows your civilian identity, weaknesses, all your family members, address, phone number, and everything else there is to know about you. In fact, if he wasn't so occupied and exhausted right now, he would be working on your case. He can't stand not knowing and not being prepared. He doesn't mean anything by it, but he is paranoid like that; if you have worked with him long enough you would know."

"I really do hope I can work with him, somehow," Captain Marvel said wistfully, "I mean, I _live_ in Gotham now, and I want to see the city get better too. We should work together. I still think I should approach him first, before he found out anyhow that I am in his city."

"Don't, Captain. Batman is not an easy person to approach to begin with, but especially now of all times, you do _not_ want to approach him, certainly not about working with him in his own city, and you know what? Not really about anything else either."

"Why? What happened to Batman?" Captain Marvel looked genuinely caring, "You said he was occupied and exhausted before too. Is he okay?"

Cyborg hesitated for a long time. After what seemed like forever he sighed and murmured, "Since there is a good chance you two will somehow step on each other's toes, I do want you to try your best to leave him alone and cut him some slack. Look, Captain, Batman recently lost his partner in the line of fire. He is pretty inconsolable and unapproachable right now, with very good reason…"

"Partner?" Blue eyes widened, "You mean Robin?!"

"Yes," Cyborg nodded with a grimace.

"But, but I thought Robin is really young! Even younger than, like, Stargirl over at the government league."

"He was so very young, too young," Cyborg shook his head, expression a mix of grief and anger, "To be honest, kids have no business doing this whole superhero thing. Even I was a bit too young when I started, and if the situation wasn't so desperate, perhaps I shouldn't have gotten involved… I am not saying this because I am, or was, afraid, but my inexperience could have burdened, even endangered, the others. But the point is, Captain, try leaving the Bat alone, alright? And let him manage Gotham as he sees fit. He really needs the space right now."

Captain Marvel shuddered, even though he should be invulnerable to both fear and cold. The red-clad hero nodded solemnly and said, "Yes, I will, Cyborg; unless there is a real life-and-death thing, I wouldn't appear in Gotham, I promise."


	7. An Untried Relationship

**AN: Shout out to all reviewers, thank you guys! I really enjoyed reading the reviews. Enjoy the new chapter!**

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**Chapter Seven: An Untried Relationship**

By the time Billy returned to his own bedroom, his phone told him it was nearly three am. He crawled onto his bed and ducked under the cover. Sleep was not forthcoming, as the boy was haunted by thoughts of the disappearing Mr. Wayne and Alfred, thoughts of his new brothers, Dick as well as the non-present ones, and especially by thoughts of Gotham's shadowy guardian Batman and one dead Robin. It was here in Gotham city that a little boy, perhaps one just like Billy himself, died in the line of duty. No doubt this little boy, though without magical powers, was well trained and a good fighter, and no doubt Batman tried his best to protect the boy, and still he died. Such was the possible future of any hero, even Earth's Mightiest Mortal could die—he was mortal after all.

After hours of tossing and turning with only bursts of actually sleeping in between, Billy decided to get up, even though it was not even six. He quickly brushed his teeth and dressed, before sneaking out of his room. Thankfully, Titus was not here to tease him this time. Billy went to Alfred's room first, pushing the door open a crack ever so silently. This time he caught sight of the old butler sleeping peacefully. Billy let loose the breath he didn't know he was holding and sneaked away quietly. At least Alfred was back and sleeping, that means Mr. Wayne was just fine as well. Though, normally when Billy was up at around seven, Alfred would already be reading newspaper with his tea in the sitting room, a full breakfast table already set out in the kitchen and the day's schedule all prepared in his head. No way would Alfred be sleeping so deeply at this hour on a normal day. The two of them must have had a long night indeed! Who knew it was so much work being a rich businessman?

Billy padded into the kitchen. He poured himself half a glass of orange juice, downed the whole thing in one gulp, and then poked his head inside the fridge again. There were some cold sandwiches left over from yesterday, and an abundant selection of eggs, dairy, cured meat, and fresh fruit and vegetable, but certainly there was nothing one would really like to eat for breakfast already prepared. Billy eyed everything, and his blue eyes suddenly lit up with a brilliant idea. Why, he should _definitely _cook breakfast for Alfred and Mr. Wayne! After a tiring night, wouldn't it be nice for them to wake up to hot and delicious breakfast?

Only a couple minutes later Billy was happily whisking eggs, light cream and butter together, humming as he worked. Too bad there was no buttermilk, did that mean Alfred and Mr. Wayne didn't eat pancakes often? Ah well. And then shake some baking powder and baking soda into the flour, with a dash of salt, pour in the liquids to make the batter, and onto the hot frying pan. Finally the best ingredient to add some magic—this will be great!

"What do you think you are _doing_, young man?"

Alfred's voice made Billy jump and he nearly fell off the stack of books he was standing on in order to reach the stove properly. Seeing his pancakes were all done, Billy turned off the stove and walked up to Alfred with a red face. "Um, I, I was trying to make breakfast."

"You plan to eat all that?" Alfred said with a raised eyebrow, eyeing the mountain of steaming pancakes.

"Oh not all of that, I thought I should make breakfast for you and Mr. Wayne, sir," Billy said, "I looked in your room and you were sleeping, so I thought you must be really tired, that's why you weren't up early like every other day, and I thought you and Mr. Wayne would both enjoy hot breakfast when you get up."

"And you are certainly up much earlier than usual, Master William," Alfred said with a gentle smile, "And thank you, my dear boy, that is very kind of you. You are certainly miles ahead your father and your brothers already, for the kitchen is still standing, and the pancakes do smell good."

"Will you try some?" Billy beamed at the old butler, already grabbing a plate and piling two pancakes on top.

"Oh but of course, Master William, and do go easy on the maple syrup…" Alfred winced as Billy doused the pancakes with the sugary concoction from hell, and his eyebrows rose even higher upon receiving the plate, "Oh dear, is that… _bacon_ in these pancakes?"

Billy blushed a little, and he mumbled, "Okay, I know it is really weird, and normal people don't make pancakes like this. It's just… There was this once when Scott and I got some eggs and bacon, but we didn't really have anything else to make normal eggs and bacon dish, but we had a bit of flour and buttermilk, so we took some salt and sugar packets form a fast food place and found some baking soda, and made these bacon pancakes. I thought they were really, really tasty! In fact, I always dreamed of having bacon pancakes again, but never did manage to get bacon since that one time. Yeah, this is really weird, and I guess it was tasty only because I was really hungry that time…"

"Now, now, Master William," Alfred interrupted the child's rambling with a gentle hand on his shoulder, "I think bacon in pancakes is quite an interesting new idea, and I am sure it is indeed very tasty. Why don't you grab a plate too, and let's go sit and enjoy our breakfast?"

These bacon pancakes were indeed delicious. Billy didn't get all the ratios exactly right, so the pancakes weren't as fluffy as they could be, but the taste was still wonderful. Billy wolfed down three syrup-drenched pancakes with gusto, and even Alfred ate two pancakes and found them quite amazing, though he was also secretly planning to wean the boy off such bad foods. After they finished eating, Billy asked, "Alfred, do you think Mr. Wayne would like pancakes in bed?"

Alfred gave the boy a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I see it on TV all the time," Billy said with a grin, "That if you want to show you really care about someone, you should make them breakfast in bed! I mean, I would totally like to eat breakfast in bed; that would be so great! Do you think Mr. Wayne would enjoy eating in bed? And would he like those pancakes?"

Alfred smiled. "He would be absolutely thrilled."

A few minutes later they headed towards the master bedroom, Billy holding a large tray that contained a high stack of syrup-doused bacon pancakes, a large cup of steaming coffee, and utensils. Alfred said Mr. Wayne probably would like coffee in the morning, so Billy insisted on learning how to prepare a cup of coffee, with the coffee maker at least.

As soon as Alfred pushed open the door to the master bedroom Bruce Wayne sat up in bed, alert at the least sound like some hunter of the night. "Alfred? What is this?" The billionaire gave his butler a hard look, quickly pulling down the sleeves of his pajama as if trying to hide something. Still holding the breakfast tray, Billy stared back at the tired looking billionaire with confusion. He could swear he saw bandages on the man's forearm.

"Master Bruce," Alfred said with a small cough, "Master William made fresh pancakes for all of us, and thought you would perhaps enjoy breakfast in bed." With that the old butler took the tray from Billy and carefully set it up in front of Wayne on a bed-top table.

The billionaire stared at the tray in front of him with a quizzical look as if he had never seen pancakes before. Though to be fair, this kind of cheap, unhealthy street fare type of food was indeed a rarity for Bruce Wayne. He poked the pancake with his fork, before asking with a raised eyebrow, "Is that… bacon bits in the pancake?"

"Indeed, Master Bruce," Alfred answered with a perfect straight face, "This is Master William's special recipe; he made it all by himself."

"You made this?" Bruce Wayne gave his son a surprised look, "You can cook without burning the kitchen down?"

Billy laughed and made a face at the man who was his father. "I can't cook as good as Alfred, but no one should burn the kitchen down without meaning to! I also know how to make omelets and sandwiches, and I think they don't taste so bad."

Bruce put a forkful of pancakes in his mouth and chewed. Seeing Billy's expectant look he gave the boy one of his very rare small smiles and said, "It's good. You are already miles ahead of me, that's for sure, and I really need to try your omelets and sandwiches one day. What made you get up early to cook breakfast though?"

"I thought since you and Alfred had such a tiring night I should definitely make food for you guys for a change!" The boy exclaimed enthusiastically.

The smile on Bruce Wayne's face disappeared instantaneously. He regarded the small boy with narrowed eyes, and his voice sounded positively dangerous as he asked in a low hiss, "And what do you mean by that?"

Billy backed up a step almost instinctively.

"Master Bruce!" Alfred gave his employer an unhappy look that almost seemed a warning, but the old butler was promptly ignored.

"Talk, boy," The billionaire barked at his son, "What do you mean we had a tiring night? What did you see?"

"I, last night I woke up late, and I was hungry, so I was just going to the kitchen to get some food," Billy explained nervously, "Titus was following me around the house. And then when we walked past your bedroom Titus barked really loud. I thought it was really weird that you didn't wake up even with Titus barking right outside your door, so I came in to take a look and saw you weren't there. That's how I know you were off working last night..."

Billy frowned and stood straighter, his voice finally finding a proper rhythm again, respectful but very much holding his ground, "I didn't mean to come into your room without your permission, but I was worried, Mr. Wayne. I thought you might be sick or drunk or something. I am sorry, and I promise I won't do it again, sir. I won't wander around at night anymore, and I won't come into your room without…"

Bruce put a hand on Billy's shoulder and stopped the boy. "My apologies, Billy," Bruce's voice was almost uncharacteristically gentle, and even regretful, "I did not mean to accuse you of anything. I was just… I guess I _am_ too tired to think properly, and I am sorry. You are right, I did have a long night. This is your home, you should feel at home, and if you need me, you can definitely come find me in my room, in the study, wherever. Anyway, thank you for those great pancakes. They are really tasty."

Billy gave his father a slow but bright grin. "I am glad you like them!" The boy chirped.

"But let's try to eat more healthily in the future, how is that?" Bruce added, "That means no pancakes except for very special occasions, and _always_ be sparing with bacon and maple syrup."

"Aww," Billy made a face and laughed.

Bruce Wayne took a long drought of coffee, when he put the cup down he was looking at his child with a serious expression again. "And I think I should be honest with you, Billy, about how I spend my nights," He took a pause long enough that Alfred was beginning to look both surprised and hopeful, but he only said, "I am working on finding your mother's research, just as I promised you, and Alfred is helping me; that's why we were away last night."

Billy blinked and asked curiously, "So um, did you guys find anything?"

"I am getting close," Bruce said, "Perhaps only a few more nights' work. I am seeing to this personally, Billy, and I promise you, your mother's work will be published for the whole world to see and to admire, trust me."

Billy nodded with a smile, "Of course I trust you, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce Wayne looked back at his son silently. Ai, for all the bright smiles and talks of trust and even the breakfast in bed, the boy still called him _Mr. Wayne_. Which was just as well; Bruce Wayne did not think he was ready to be called _father_ again, not yet.


	8. An Unhappy Encounter

**AN: Thanks everyone for those lovely reviews! They certainly made a very happy week for me :) Here is one more chapter, enjoy! **

**PS: I will be at the NYCC tomorrow; hope to see lots of fellow DC fans XD**

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**Chapter Eight: An Unhappy Encounter**

At twenty minutes past eleven Barbara Gordon entered the Batcave from the upper levels of the Wayne Manor. She had never done such a thing in her first few years working with the caped crusader, but it suddenly it became a regular occurrence. It was almost as if she was really becoming part of a dysfunctional family, which was a big step forward for all of them, dysfunctional notwithstanding.

"The kid is asleep? Everything is fine?" Bruce asked from behind his wall of screens. He was already in full costume, but the cowl had not yet covered his face, and his still-visible blue eyes showed true concern and interest that was quite unlike his perfectly flat voice.

Barbara answered, "I put the kid to bed and turned the lights out, though I am not too sure about him being asleep. He was rather excited about the book we were reading, so you never know, might still be reading." Here the young woman gave her mentor a long, sideway look, before saying, "But I don't think reading Madeleine L'Engle under the bedcover with a flashlight is really anything to worry about. He is a whole new variety for you, isn't he?"

"He is just a regular kid, not like the rest of you guys."

"Indeed, not like the rest of us with our issues. And damages," Barbara murmured softly. She wasn't trying to be snarky, and she sounded sad about it all.

Bruce ignored that comment promptly and asked, "So how is he catching up in school? Can he handle it, and can you handle him?"

"Don't worry about it, Billy is brilliant," Barbara's voice brightened, "You do know he has always aced math, right? Even those concepts considered advanced for his grade level, I teach him once and he understands, and he actually finds practice problems _fun_. His grades suffer in English and social studies simply because he didn't have the time and resources to go through even the required reading materials, never mind being well-read outside of it. But he is genuinely interested in everything, and motivated, so in a few months you will have your straight-A child. He really is smart, Bruce, and so very sweet. By the way, you don't mind me giving him some gymnastics and defense lessons, do you?"

"I saw you two in the gym the other day. Why is he interested in self-defense?"

Barbara laughed, "Now Bruce, relax. He is a little boy, of course he is going to be interested in all those equipment in the gym and would want to try some of the stuff out. In any case, he is more impressed by Dick's and my aerial moves. He is actually already a decent tumbler, and with some training and putting on muscles of course, he has the potential to become a good gymnast. A sport will be good for him. Oh, and he even managed to make Dick promise to teach him some high bar tricks once he mastered the more basic gymnastics stuff."

"You like the kid."

"Of course, he is a great kid, and he has a way worming into your heart," Barbara replied fondly.

Bruce was silent for a long time, before suddenly saying, "Look, Barbara, I am grateful for all this." A Pause, and then he added, "I know you have a lot on your plate right now, and the issue with your father, I know I haven't… If there is anything I can do for you, tell me."

"Don't worry about me," Barbara made an effort to smile for him. She knew Bruce was trying _very_ hard, but there was little he could do, and in all honesty he had barely begun to sort through his own woes. Though Brush could use a little push with his problems. So she began hesitantly, "Bruce, I know you are trying to make this work, and this is not easy for you, but have you thought about… Maybe you can spend a little more time with Billy? You can tutor him in English and teach him self-defense, probably better than us. I mean Dick and I do adore him, don't get me wrong, it's just… We don't want to take your place in his world."

"I am terrible for a job like this," Bruce said in a stony voice that ended all discussion. There was a long pause, before Bruce added in a very low voice, "And I can't, not yet."

Just when the silence was becoming oppressive, Barbara spoke again. "You know, Billy tried to invite me to the manor for Thanksgiving dinner when he heard it's just dad and I for the holidays." She laughed mirthlessly, before saying, "He also asked me if I know whether Damian will be home for Thanksgiving, and he wanted to know what might be a good Christmas present for his brother."

Bruce did not respond, only pulled the cowl over his head with extra vehemence. It felt as if even the air around him chilled.

"Bruce, you can keep all of this hidden," Barbara said, gesturing to the cave around her, "But there are things you can't keep from a little boy. How long would you have him expecting a brother to come home and to grow up with him?"

Bruce slammed a hand down at his computer controls. "Here is your patrol route for tonight, Batgirl," He growled, "I am off to Fawcett City. Keep the comm link open and keep me in the loop."

The flight from Gotham to Fawcett in the Batwing did not take nearly long enough. Even when Batman slinked into one Adam Batson's house his mind did not clear, and a deep seated misery was gnawing his bones, the pain still palpable. But it was an easy job; he could afford to be distracted. Batman was utterly silent as he made his way into the master bedroom, dragged the man from his bed, and set him on the roof of his own house.

"What… _what?!_ By God's sake, what… what the fuck!" The rotund man was utterly disoriented as he slowly woke, while Batman simple stood there, a cutout of shadows under the wane moonlight.

"You're… you're Batman!" Adam Batson finally seemed to wake up proper and recognize the famous vigilante. He exclaimed, "What the hell is going on?! Aren't you supposed to be in Gotham?! What… what the hell! I didn't do nothing; I am an upstanding citizen! I know you lot can never be trusted."

"Shut up," Batman's low growl made the Batson shut up instantaneously. Batman let the silent pause sit for long enough to foster the proper mood of threat, before continuing, "I will talk, and you will listen. Don't interrupt me, don't give me explanations or arguments; I don't need those. Your name is Adam Ebenezer Batson, and you are the cousin of the famous University of Michigan Egyptologist C. C. Batson. You never cared for your cousin, who was a good and upstanding intellectual, something way beyond your meager understanding. When he and his wife passed away in an accident three years ago, leaving a young boy and you the only living relatives, you jumped on it and robbed them blind. It is not quite enough you managed to steal their home, their savings, and their pension funds, you even stole Marilyn Batson's unpublished research, which by the way, legally belongs to the University of Michigan and Marilyn's former students and research assistants. You sold it to the highest bidder, the oil and commodity trading mogul Vitol to be exact. I want that research. You now have ten minutes to tell me how to retrieve it, every last number and file."

Adam Batson stared up at the vigilante, blinking rapidly. It took him a good half minute, but eventually he exclaimed angrily, "What the hell is this? I don't even… Look, if you know everything, you know I don't have that damned research anymore! I _sold_ it, alright? Why don't you just walk over to Vitol and ask them? Just because you can't handle them doesn't mean you should terrorize me; I don't have that shit anymore."

"You give both Vitol and me too little credit," Batman replied in the same low, flat gravelly voice, "Of course I already went to Vitol. The owners and lead analysts have the forecasting model _in their heads_; the original research files you handed over to them were destroyed long ago. I don't need a single equation, however effective it may be; I need a publishable research. That's what you will give me."

"I don't have the stuff anymore, I don't! What the hell! When I sold it I sold it alright?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You gave Vitol boxes of papers, but do you really expect me to believe in this day and age academics don't keep a fully digitized copy of their research files? If you insist, we can go to another _much higher _roof to continue this conversation."

Adam Batson swallowed, his fat face now covered with sweat. Still, he was brave enough to make one last attempt. "You… you just want it so you can make money from it, like the rest of them. Don't you work for some rich industrialist? What does the Justice League think of you running around threatening upstanding citizens for some…"

Batman's fist closed around the collar of Adam Batson's pajama shirt. "Be careful what comes out of your mouth. I suggest the next thing you say should be where to find Marilyn Batson's research."

"Alright, alright! Let… let go, I, I will give you the stuff you want." Tears actually came out of the man's eyes as he whimpered.

A small part of Batman was sorely tempted to _actually_ toss this fat, worthless bag of human flesh over the edge of the roof, but he only kept his hold on that fistful of pajama and snarled, "Talk."

Just then Batman heard the telltale hints of the still night air being stirred by something. His head snapped up and he saw a statuesque figure approaching the roof, or more like, _floating _down to the roof—red suit, gold-rimmed white cape billowing, powerful and divine, that would be Fawcett City's guardian, Captain Marvel. Batman's burrow furrowed with annoyance under the cowl; he did not wish to deal with another Leaguer during a personal quest like this.

"Batman? Is that you, sir?" Captain Marvel landed on the roof and offered an uncertain greeting, "Can you please let the man go? He really isn't so dangerous, and he won't do much even if you are not holding him down, I don't think."

And then Adam Batson screamed like a stuck pig, "Help, Captain Marvel, help me! I wasn't doing _anything_! This lunatic just came into my house and dragged me out of bed! I've done nothing, so by God, _help me_!"

Batman ignored all that screaming, only glared at Captain Marvel, "You don't think? You are going to challenge _my_ work, based on 'you-don't-think'?"

Captain Marvel's blue eyes narrowed a little and he said, "With all due respect, Batman, you are standing on the roof of a civilian's house, holding a _defenseless_ man still in his_ pajamas_. Please let go, sir."

The way Captain Marvel's rich and regal voice pronounced the word "sir" seemed like a certain mockery. Batman was suddenly angry. This time he did let go, wrapping a Bat-lasso around the Adam Batson and promptly tossing him off the roof. The red figure in front of him blurred, and then Captain Marvel was standing right in front of him again, inches away from his cowl and holding his right arm in an iron grip.

"What is this about?!" Captain Marvel seemed angered as well, "Who are you? Are you really Batman?"

Batson did not scream, Batman noticed impassionedly, which means Captain Marvel caught him before he hit the lawn. And then Captain Marvel managed to get close enough to grab Batman's arm all but instantaneously to human perception. That reaction time and speed were basically on par with Superman and Flash. Captain Marvel's hold was superhumanly strong too, one that he couldn't possibly break out of. There was no Kryptonite, but maybe other weaknesses.

Batman's left hand pulled out a small baton from his utility belt and jammed one end right into Captain Marvel's neck. Electric sparks crackled like firework—two amperes of electricity at 5,000 volts, that would be enough to actually kill a normal person, but Captain Marvel's fist connected with his jaw instead. Batman could tell it was a very pulled back punch for someone who can match Superman fist for fist, but it was hard enough to leave a bruise forming. When Batman shook his head clear of the pain Captain Marvel was some twenty feet away, hovering in midair.

"You tried to use electricity against me?" Captain Marvel stared at him with disbelief, "Seriously?"

Batman could have sworn he heard a note of nervousness and fear in Captain Marvel's voice. He was all but convinced he had found the Captain's weakness, and was already planning on how to upgrade his gadget to release more electric power, when he saw bolts of _lightning_ swimming around Captain Marvel's hand like a thousand blue-white snakes.

_You have got to be kidding me._

Before he could blink the ball of writhing charges hit him square in the chest. His suit was insulated head to toe of course, but the lightning hit like a super-powered punch and threw him straight off the roof, and it burned, all the way through the Kevlar. He twisted and landed on his feet, falling into a crouching position like a cat. Captain Marvel floated down as well, looking even more nervous than before.

"Sorry about that, Batman, I wasn't really thinking; that stun gun was a little annoying," The red-clad hero mumbled, "Can we just talk about this? What are you doing in Fawcett City, and why are you dragging Adam Batson out of his bed? To tell you the truth, I know him; or I should say I know of him. I did live in this city and I know of people and things. This Mr. Batson is a mean-spirited scrooge, but he hasn't committed any major crime and he isn't a villain. It's… it's not a nice thing to scare him in the middle of the night, oaky? I mean, we are heroes; that's not what we do right? Tell me what's going on, please… sir."

Batman considered his options and had to admit to himself he was beat, for this night at least. With Damian's death hanging over him like a perpetual storm cloud he had grown lax and did not complete the proper research on his newly-recruited teammate. He _must_ find out Captain Marvel's identity and weaknesses soon.

But in the meantime Batman answered briskly, "Adam Batson stole an unpublished research of enormous import; I need him to hand it over."

After hearing the whole story Captain Marvel looked a little dazed. "Wow, he did that," The Captain murmured, "And I thought he was just a mean person. I didn't know he had done something so dangerous."

"Even without this specific theft, a man who robs his dead relatives' lifesaving and puts a small child on the street is not simply mean-spirited; he is murderously malicious and negligent," Batman snarled with obvious disgust, "And clearly, Captain, you know less of the people in your city than you would imagine. So next time think before you jump and interrupt my work."

"Huh, I am sorry, I guess," Captain Marvel looked distinctively uncomfortable, "Anyway, I, I wouldn't stand in your way anymore, sir. I will leave you to it. Just…" After a moment of hesitation Captain Marvel still added, "Just don't hurt Mr. Batson, alright? I mean, he is a bad person, but he is defenseless; please don't hurt him."

Just as Captain Marvel turned to leave Batman called out again, "A moment, Captain. You said you _did live_ in Fawcett City. Did that change? Where do you live now?"

When Captain Marvel did not answer immediately Batman's frown deepened. "Fine then, keep your secrets," He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, "But Captain? I _will_ find out."


	9. An Unfolding Truth

**AN: Thanks everyone for the reviews! I am really happy that people are enjoying this story and I hope you will all continue to enjoy it. Here is another chapter. :)**

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Chapter 9: An Unfolding Truth

Billy Batson woke up uncharacteristically late the next morning. He had a good excuse, of course: dealing with Batman was hard work, any night of the week! The encounter itself was nerve-wrecking enough, but he felt obliged to hang around Fawcett City far longer than intended so he could check on his uncle after Batman departed. Billy did not love that slimy man who was his uncle by blood, but Uncle Ebenezer was no supervillain and did not deserve _Batman_ of all heroes breathing down his neck, right? It was really bad luck of the worst sort. He had flown in and out of Gotham as Captain Marvel many times now and never once ran into the infamous Dark Knight, yet somehow he had encountered Batman in _Fawcett City_, in his own uncle's house nonetheless? Now that was a fated meeting if there ever were one.

After washing and brushing his teeth, Billy wandered into the kitchen. To his utter surprise he found Bruce Wayne sitting there with a tablet computer in hand and a mug of coffee. "Ah, Billy, you are up," The billionaire said, "I have been waiting for you. Come join me for breakfast; I have some good news for you."

Billy eyed the man who was his father with uncertainty. What was this about? Bruce was trying to sound casual and warm, but Billy could still tell something quite serious was up. They sat together and ate Alfred's delicious muffin quietly. After finishing off his breakfast and filling up his second cup of coffee, Bruce began. "The good news is, Billy," He said, "I found your mom's research. I already put a couple calls to her old colleagues and students at University of Michigan, and they are thrilled the research is found. They will be working to complete it and edit it for publication."

"Oh!" Billy's eyes widened, though no one could guess the true origin of his shock, "Wow!"

"Would you like to take a look at some of the things your mom worked on?" Bruce asked kindly, pushing his tablet computer towards the boy.

Billy watched as Bruce flipped through various tables, charts, and graphs on the tablet. Those squiggly lines and masses of numbers looked daunting but nonetheless impressive to him. Eventually the boy said in a dazed voice, "Wow, there really was a lot of stuff. I wish I can understand all this one day."

"Do you want to be a political scientist one day like your mother, Master William?" Alfred asked.

Billy shrugged helplessly. "Um, what do political scientists do, actually?"

Alfred did not quail at the task of explaining such a difficult concept to a ten-year old, he only said in his usual voice, "Political scientists study the things countries and governments do and figure out how best to direct governments to make citizens happier. For example they figure out how to stop wars, how to make a more effective police force to catch all the criminals, or how to provide people who are not very well-off with the means to go to university."

"That's like what real heroes do! I didn't know mom was so cool! She always said she was just a teacher," The child exclaimed with shining eyes.

"So is that something you might want to do in the future?"

Billy replied with a grin, "Well, but my dad was really cool too, and I want to be just like him, going on a grand adventure and digging up cool things from ages past, just like Indiana Jones! Dad even started teaching me to read Hieroglyphics, you know."

This time Bruce laughed out loud. Despite the touch of envy he was happy to see his son ramble on so excitedly. He put a hand on Billy's shoulder and said, "Well Billy, this is rather cliché but I will say it nonetheless, you can be whatever you want to be, and I will always help you."

"Thanks, Mr. Wayne!" Billy beamed at his father and almost looked as if he wanted to hug the man, when he suddenly stopped with a curious expression on his face, "Er, Mr. Wayne, what happened to your face?"

Bruce Wayne rubbed his jaw, "The bruise? Ah it was nothing; I was a little careless and walked into a cabinet."

Walking into the cabinet led to a bruise on the _jaw_? Right, that looked like the result of a mean right hook if he ever saw one. But Billy decided not to pursue the subject. Instead he asked, "So where did you find the research, Mr. Wayne?"

"You uncle stole her research and sold it to a company that wanted to use it to predict global commodity prices. But good thing he was too greedy and kept an extra copy for himself."

"And Uncle Ebenezer just admitted to it? He just gave you the research back?" Billy was eyeing his father again with a curious look.

"Of course not," Bruce answered calmly with a perfect straight face, "I had to drag him out of bed at night and threaten to throw him off his own roof in order for him to hand over what he stole."

Bruce expected the child to laugh, as most are wont do when hearing such a tale of grand adventure and righteous violence, but Billy only stared at him with an expression of unabated shock and even terror.

"I was joking, Billy," Bruce said lightly.

"Were you?!" Billy blurted out.

Bruce's smile vanished in a flash. "What do you mean by that?"

Only that Batman actually _tried _to throw Uncle Ebenezer off the roof and it was not a nice thing to do! Billy took a deep breath and a jumble of words came out of his mouth in a rush, "But Batman always threatens to throw people off roofs if he wants information. And Batman works for you, doesn't he? Did you ask Batman go after Uncle Ebenezer, did he threaten my uncle, is that what your joke meant? Is that why you give money to Batman, so he would do things for you?"

"That's enough." Bruce's coffee cup came down to rest on the table with more force than necessary, "Batman does _not_ work for me, Billy, Batman does not work for _anyone_. He serves his own justice, which I might add is a justice most people can give a nod to. And finding your mother's research is a personal issue I keep close at heart. I needed help from others, yes, but I did not send some goon out at night to get your mother's research while terrorizing good and upstanding citizens, which your uncle is not in any case."

Billy bit his bottom lip and did not speak, but inside he was screaming with frustration. That had to be a lie, it had to be, because I _know_ without a shadow of doubt that Batman was there in my uncle's house and obtained my mother's research last night! Billy peered at Bruce Wayne's face once more, the face of this man who was supposed to be his father, and it really seemed to be there was no lie, only a bruised jawline. What was going on? Billy was becoming more and more confused. So Bruce Wayne really didn't know about Batman's actions? Or did he meet a fake Batman last night? But how did Bruce Wayne get the research from Uncle Ebenezer, if Batman, real or fake, got to it last night? They must be working together! Unless…

Suddenly everything clicked in Billy's mind.

Batman did not work for Bruce Wayne, and Bruce Wayne did not send anyone out into the night; Batman was doing something close to his own heart, and Bruce Wayne went out into the night himself, even got punched in the face by Captain Marvel. Bruce Wayne was the Batman.

It just made so much sense in the child's mind. The disappearing acts at night, the bandages on Bruce Wayne's arm, and the bruise on his jaw, oh and Batman's strange interest in some small time miser a city that's not Gotham. It had to be this.

_Holy moly, my father is the Batman._

"You, are you…" Billy said, "Who…"

Billy stopped rather abruptly. He was going to ask "are you Batman" and "who is Robin" when the conversation with Cyborg suddenly sprang up in his mind, and he froze like a deer in headlights. Robin was _dead_. The young and sprightly partner of the Dark Knight died in the line of fire, and Batman was inconsolable. Batman was Billy's father, and Robin? Billy did have this brother who attended some nameless school in Europe, who never called home, who never sent photos or messages, who didn't even bother sending him an email the way Tim did. Billy secretly worried perhaps his half-brother didn't like him, didn't want a random stranger to share the Wayne manor and name, but now he realized with terror perhaps the truth was much worse than what he originally imagined.

"Billy? What's wrong? Tell me what you are thinking about." Bruce Wayne asked gently.

Billy stared at his father, at a total loss for words. After what seemed like forever he mumbled, "It's… it's nothing. It's nice you got mom's research back, Mr. Wayne. Thank you very much. And I am sorry I said mean things to you… Um, I still have a lot of homework to do. May I be excused now, sir?"

Billy did not wait too long. He spent only a couple hours doing homework, or trying to do homework; when Bruce and Alfred decided to get on with their day, he promptly sneaked out of the house. He didn't go as Captain Marvel, instead he just ran off leaving a clear trail for every camera on the grounds to see. He didn't really think through it, but his instincts had told him this was a mystery he needed to solve as Billy Batson. Using his wits and puppy-eyed sweetness, he managed to ask and beg his way to Gotham's Hollows, which was said to be a cemetery for the rich, privileged, and most beloved. A few acres in one corner of the Hollows belonged solely to the Wayne family.

In the full light of the autumn sun the aged graveyard looked beautiful and peaceful, the grass green and finely manicured and the headstones old but elegant. Billy walked through the cemetery, looking left and right. Those Waynes buried here, they were all _his _family, his grandparents and great-grandparents and uncles and aunts and cousins however many time removed. If he weren't so troubled he might have appreciated the fact a little more. Billy had no idea what he was looking for or what he expected find. Surely there wouldn't be a headstone that just says "Robin, partner of Batman", nor would there be one for Damian Wayne, because everyone insisted Damian was simply studying and traveling in Europe. But still he walked and looked, searching; maybe a fresh tomb, a new stone tablet bearing a fake looking name, a familiar arrangement of flowers—any clue would do.

What Billy did not expect was a familiar tall figure wrapped in trench coat entering his line of vision, crossing the cemetery, and then leaving through a side gate. That was _Dick Grayson_, wasn't it? It shouldn't be; Dick's parents were buried at the Gotham Park Cemetery half a city away, Dick had told him this. But that was Dick, as sure as the daylight around him, tall and powerful but hunched over with sadness. Billy blinked a few times owlishly, before he took off running. His heart thumped in his chest as he raced towards the place Dick left behind.

Indeed there was a new grave, marked by a fresh, grand tombstone. The white marble was completely unmarked, not a word could be found, only a gleaming obelisk so new and shiny it hurt the eyes to see. There were no flowers at the grave either, but there was a copy of a video game. Billy picked up the game box with trembling hands and stared at the colorful cover image. _Swordhunter_, huh.

"What kind of things does Damian like?" He had once asked Barbara in that rambling way of his, "Is he more bookish or more athletic? I really want to get him an awesome Christmas present, but he must have like everything he wants! I hope he will actually like the Christmas present I pick. Does he like games, by the way?"

Barbara laughed, mirthlessly and nervously, before replying, "Yeah, Damian likes video games; if you get him some new game I am sure he will enjoy it."

"Oh, well, that shouldn't be too hard, right? What kind of games does he really like?"

"To be honest I can't be sure, it's so hard keeping up with you kids and your games," Barbara still seemed nervous as she forced a smile, "But there is this series he liked, Sword… something? Ah, Swordhunter. Dick mentioned it once."

Billy hugged the game close to his chest and started running. He didn't bother looking for buses or taxis, didn't bother asking friendly strangers for a ride, he just ran and ran. It was more than three miles from the Wayne cemetery in the Hollows to the manor, but he ran it all the way. Once back at the manor, even though he was panting and thirsty, his mouth parched, he did not bother going to the kitchen. He went straight to the games room and popped _Swordhunter_ into the game console.

Billy never played a video game before, and in all honesty, he didn't even like playing video games. _Swordhunter_ felt more like a chore than an enjoyment. But he hacked away at the game with something that almost felt like _vengeance_, and he was afraid to even blink lest he missed anything. That was how Bruce and Alfred found him, holed away in the games room that he never bothered with before and playing like a man on a mission.

"What do you think you are doing, young man," Bruce said as he marched into the games room, "Why did you run off? Where have you been? I do not tolerate that kind of behavior under my roof."

Billy started. His first reaction was that he should turn off the TV but Bruce Wayne stood between him and the remote control. He thought about quitting the game but when an enemy charged at him onscreen he responded with a knee jerk reaction. It was even harder to look at his father now so he kept his eyes fixed on the giant screen, where his character was hacking a bloody path through a sea of ninjas. "I…I went out to get this game," Eventually he mumbled, hands never leaving the controller, "People were talking about it at school and everyone played it. They laughed at me when I said I don't know anything about it. I just want to keep up with the other kids."

Billy Batson was a good boy. He almost never lied unless it was absolutely necessary. Was it necessary now to lie to Bruce Wayne? He had no idea. But lying was certainly much easier than telling the truth. And just what would the truth be anyway? Billy ran away to the Hollows and stole this game from an unmarked grave, a grave that he believed to belong to Robin, the Dark Knight's squire, who was also his half-brother that he had never met? Oh and, he figured it out all by himself that his father, billionaire industrialist Bruce Wayne, was probably the Batman himself instead of just the moneybag behind Batman? This was madness.

"Billy, look at me when I am talking to you," Bruce Wayne said in a familiar low growl and stepped in front of the TV screen, "And stop playing for a moment, this…"

Bruce looked as if he was about to turn off the TV himself, but his hand froze mid-air as he stared at the screen. Just then Billy cleared a level, so he put down the controller and as his character did a little celebratory dance to the game-save screen, finally looking at his father. "I am sorry, I shouldn't have run off like that, but I wasn't sure if you guys would take me and I wanted the game," Billy lied smoothly, "Sorry, Mr. Wayne. And um, this game, I mean…"

Bruce began slowly in a very quiet voice, "I think I have seen Damian playing this. He loved the game." He gave his head a good shake, before continuing in a much sterner manner, "Alright, stop the game at once and clean up the games room. You will go to your room and think about what you did. You will apologize to Alfred, sincerely and eloquently, before you get dinner."

Billy only nodded meekly and did as he was told, as if nothing was wrong. But when he returned to his own bedroom he felt as if he could no longer stand. The day's running and detecting and riding the emotional rollercoaster had finally caught with him. His legs felt like jelly and he thought he could barely breathe.

So Billy collapsed onto his bed and started crying into the pillows.


	10. An Unforgivable Breach

**AN: Thanks to everyone for the reviews, they are all very helpful! Enjoy the new chapter :)**

**PS: This chapter ties int the event of Justice League #19, and the next few chapters will bleed into all current DC titles, and eventually we will get to DC's major crossover event right now, Trinity War/Forever Evil. :)**

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Captain Marvel appeared smack in the center of Gotham City at exactly two am. He busted a gang weapons deal, stopped two small-time robberies, and helped to rush the victims of a major car crash to hospital, before flying over to the Hollows, Gotham's oldest cemetery for the wealthy. That was where Batman found him, standing—or rather floating—in the now dark and frightening land of the dead, beside a new and unmarked obelisk of white marble. Here at the place Batman least wished to be in the whole wide world, he was tense like a bowstring drawn taut, but he forced himself to show nothing but deadly calm.

"What is this, Captain Marvel?" The Dark Knight hissed, "Payback for my venture into your city last night? I had legitimate business, of which I even explained to you in full. You have two minutes to tell me what's going on."

The red-clad hero began slowly, "I wanted to see you; there are things I need to ask you."

"And this cannot be discussed in the Watchtower? You could have contacted me without waltzing through my city," Batman sounded skeptical and annoyed.

"I thought this place would be better, sir."

A pause, during which Batman reflected once again with annoyance on his inability to contain Captain Marvel, before he barked, "Alright, talk. I am waiting."

"Then I will just ask it," Captain Marvel said with determination in his voice, "Who do you work for, Batman?"

The Dark Knight of Gotham blinked behind the cowl, before saying with a snort, "Excuse me?"

Captain Marvel continued unflinchingly, "You told me last night you were looking for the lost research of the scientist Marilyn Batson, but you never said why you considered the business important enough for you to make a trip to Fawcett City. I want to know why. You must have gotten that research, so where is it now? Who did you give it to? Who hired you to obtain it to begin with?"

"I do not work for _anyone_, and my service is not up for bid," Batman snarled, "Last night's business was a _personal_ issue for me. I have no obligation to explain any of it to you!"

"The research you described sounds important; how do I know there won't be some other people abusing it in the future? What did you do with the stuff you got?" Captain Marvel was quite insistent.

"Why do you care at all?" Batman rebutted bluntly.

Captain Marvel crossed his arms before his chest in a rather childish manner, "Because I do."

"It is handed over to the right people and will be published, laid open for the whole world to see, in due time. Now get out of my city before I throw you out."

Captain Marvel stared at Batman for a few more seconds, before drawing a deep breath and saying, "I have one last question."

"What?"

The red-clad hero gestured towards the unmarked white marble behind him and asked, "Is this where you buried Robin?"

The only answer Captain Marvel received was a Batarang flying into his face with the ferocity of an eagle diving for its dinner. He caught the Batarang easily and waited; just as he expected, the flying weapon exploded in his hand. The explosion was stronger than he imagined, and he was sent sailing through the air. Batman leapt after him with a speed that seemed almost supernatural for an ordinary human, and the gloved fist smashed into his face with enough force for him to feel.

"How dare you!" Batman roared with uncharacteristic rage, and threw another punch.

Captain Marvel did not bother defending himself. All of his suspicions are now confirmed; there was no room for doubt left. Captain Marvel was almost tempted to raise his hand and rip off Batman's cowl; he could be _absolutely sure_ that way, but he was just not ready for an actual fight. Batman's punches stung, but only a little, so he simply allowed the Dark Knight to punch him to the ground. Some half a dozen punches later Batman relented and pulled back, perhaps finally realizing that he was beating down a man who could not be hurt and did not want to fight.

"What are you doing here, Captain Marvel?" Batman growled from the shadows, "Why? What are you trying to accomplish?"

The red-clad hero clambered up rather slowly and gave Batman a long and despairing look. He seemed as if he was fighting a Herculean battle inside. When he came to a decision he seemed even sadder than before, almost as if near tears.

"I am so sorry," He muttered, and was gone.

Billy Batson woke up even later on Sunday morning, with a raging headache, probably induced by the brilliant sunlight streaming in through the window. The boy groaned and pulled the cover over his head. Oh man, it was already so late? And _of course_ he forgot to close the blinds. After rolling in bed for a good ten minutes like a normal boy, he finally dragged himself up. His pile of homework did not get _any _smaller on Saturday, and he better get to it.

It was an utterly unremarkable Sunday, and by eleven o'clock the manor was empty again, even earlier than usual. When Billy emerged from his room to get a late night snack and found the manor empty he could only sigh and shrug. Hopefully it wasn't something too serious or League related, though in any case Captain Marvel should really help more with League business. After snack Billy went into Bruce's library, hoping to find a book on ancient Rome—they were learning about it in school—that he could read before going to sleep, but instead he find a hole in the wall.

Billy stood there and stared.

A floor-to-ceiling bookshelf against the wall was somehow removed from its usual position, revealing not wallpaper behind, but a veritable _hole _in the wall, like an elevator shaft, with two poles leading down to some unknown dark depth, like the kind one would see in a fire station, except that of course everything in a fire station would be well lit. Huh, so _that_ was the entrance to Batman's secret hideout.

Except why would it lie open and revealed like this?

Something was wrong, and he should certainly check it out. Billy actually hesitated for a moment. He was usually quick and decisive, even as plain old Billy Batson, for living on the streets required a sort of fast and steely resolve. But no one would rush into a confrontation with the Batman, especially not Billy, who also happened to be the Dark Knight's son. Still he hesitated for a moment only, and then he grabbed the metal pole and slid down into the shadows, silent and bright-eyed like some animal of the night.

The wondrous machines and gadgets and even oversized souvenirs littered all around the Batcave did not distract Billy for even a second. The first thing the boy saw was the shattered glass, the pile of Robin costume, and two prone bodies lying on the ground, and he sprinted straight for them. One of the forms was Alfred, the other an unknown man wearing a red ski mask over his head and a red Bat symbol on his grey bodysuit. Billy bit down on his bottom lip to stop himself from crying out. He crouched down beside Alfred, putting two fingers on Alfred's neck, the other hand shaking the old butler's arm. "Alfred, can you hear me? Alfred?"

He found a steady pulse, but no other reaction.

Seeing that Alfred won't wake, Billy drew a breath and murmured, "Shazam."

Bolts of lightning lit the Batcave momentarily, and then Captain Marvel rose from his crouching position and scanned his surrounding carefully. There was a half open door to his left, so with one last look around, he ducked into the shadowy cavern behind that door. The inside chamber was filled with machinery, mostly exotic motor vehicles that were still within the realm of imagination, other robotic suit and vessels that simply looked ridiculous. At one end of this cavern space there was another open door that should have been all but invisible if closed. Captain Marvel approached the door, but before he could take a step down the flight of stairs, a beam of white light hit him square in the chest and sent him stumbling back.

Following that beam of white light a form in black charged at him. Confused and disoriented Captain Marvel could only swipe his arm at the attacking form. Even then he was careful to hit lightly, lest he killed his attacker out right. The force of his blow still sent the attacker crashing into a robotic Batsuit. Once the attacker scrambled up Captain Marvel finally saw that he was covered from head to toe by a strange, shimmering black body suit; a pair of red lenses covered his eyes. This attacker was certainly human, no supernatural strength or speed, though the light weapon seemed powerful enough, and what did the strange suit do?

"Who are you?" Captain Marvel demanded, "What are you doing in the Batcave? And how on Earth did you get in here?!"

The figure in black only looked at him and commented lightly, "It is you." And then he charged again.

He must incapacitate this intruder quickly. But even as Captain Marvel reached out and hold down the attacker's arm, bolts of lightning filled the cave once more. It was no mere Taser gun or even a particularly powerful electromagnetic pulse, but a full-fledged indoor lightning storm. Captain Marvel was stunned. He never expected his enemy to be capable of generating lightning, never mind with gadgets small enough to be comfortably carried on one's person! How did this strange man in black suit do this? And then Billy Batson was standing in the middle of the shadowy cave once more.

"Sha…"

The boy's cry was stuffed back into his mouth when a spindly but strong hand clasped over his mouth, the grip so tight it threatened to crush his jaw. "Now, no more of that," The man in black suit said, quickly clicking a device around the child's neck.

An inhibitor collar like the one they used at Belle-reve, Billy realized with wide eyes, and a cold metallic mask attached to the collar covering his mouth. He couldn't speak now, couldn't even make a single sound! Now assured the child will stay a harmless child, the intruder in black let go and backed up a few steps.

"How curious," Said the intruder, "The Earth's Mightiest Mortal is actually Batman's brat. And to think the world's villains and governments only fear Superman. Though what should I do with you, blessed little child?"

Billy gave only one deer-in-headlight blink, before he ran. He dashed back into the main cave, looking desperately for something—anything—that might serve as a weapon. He was only a few steps into the main cave when the same spindly yet strong hand picked him up by the back of his collar. "You are remarkably light for a ten-year old, poor little thing, all skin and bones. See, normally I wouldn't be able to do this," The intruder remarked in a casual manner, before throwing the boy into a glass case, like how one would toss a stuffed animal.

Billy's field of vision became entirely black for a second or two. When he could see again he could still not see clearly; there was blood tricking into his eyes. If that was the state of his head, he didn't even want to think about what his back must look like, the way it felt at the moment. But there were certainly _some_ advantages to being thrown into a case that held a Robin uniform. Billy drew a deep breath, closed his fingers around a stray Birdarang, and rolled up. The Birdarang flew towards its mark like a bird of prey, but the intruder in black only laughed and leaned sideway to avoid the weapon.

"Your aim is untrained, little boy, what do…" He never finished his sentence, for the Birdarang swung a curve and flew into his back. At the last moment the intruder dodged, but not before the Birdarang's razor edge nicked his suit at the shoulder.

The intruder froze for a second, before releasing a guttural roar, "You insolent brat!"

He seemed to blur and another second later he was standing over Billy. He grabbed a fistful of the boy's dark hair and dragged the young face close to his own. "How dare you! I had no plan to kill you before, you pathetic little boy, now…"

A staff swung out of nowhere and cut him off, smashing into his head full force. He had to release the child and back up a few steps. When he shook vision clear again, he saw the young dark-haired boy standing with a long telescoping staff in his hands—another thing he grabbed from underneath Robin's cape.

"Don't be ridiculous," The intruder sneered, "A Robin's staff does not make you Robin."

He lunged at the little boy, who back stepped and swung the staff at the attacker's legs with impressive acumen. The man sneered again and tried to step on the staff, but the staff avoided his feet, shooting upward for a hit between his legs. The intruder jumped backward out of the staff's range with a growl, before grabbing the other end of the staff.

"Don't be ridiculous," He hissed.

The staff was now in his control, and the other end smacked the boy right in the head without mercy. Billy collapsed like a sack of flour and did not get up this time.

"Foolish, foolish child," The intruder muttered.

Then calmly as a master in his own house, he closed the various doors in the Batcave, even turned off the lights, before disappearing upstairs into the manor.


	11. An Undeniable Confrontation

AN: Thank you guys so much for all those lovely reviews! They totally made my week :) One more chapter so enjoy!

All mysteries will be explained in due time (like in three or four chapters or so). But if you have been following New 52 Justice League and events you would know the answer already! I am following that plot line rather closely.

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**Chapter Eleven: An Undeniable Confrontation**

When Billy opened his eyes again he found himself staring into the masked face of the Dark Knight himself. He shot up into a sitting position and wanted to shout, but quickly regretted his impulse. The sudden motion set his back on fire, black spots danced before his eyes, and he couldn't even hiss or groan properly; the strange device still clamped down over his neck and mouth, and he couldn't make a single sound.

"Steady," Batman said, both hands on his shoulders, "Slow and steady, Billy. Don't panic." His voice held the slightest tremble, and his posture looked tenser than Billy ever remembered seeing. And then Batman turned and called, "Cyborg, he is awake; I need you to get this thing off him."

Billy's eyes widened when he saw his closest friend on the Justice League approach. Cyborg read his expression wrong and threw up his hands instead, speaking in a gentle and friendly manner, "Hey, it's alright kid, I am here to help. And don't you worry, everything will be just fine. Let's take a look at this weird thing on your neck and get it off now, okay?"

It took Cyborg a good five minutes to finally disarm it, and the device fell off his face with a click. Billy drew a huge, staggering breath and then promptly started coughing. Batman was holding his shoulder again, patting the base of his neck gently. He murmured, "It's going to be fine, Billy, relax."

"Alfred! Is he okay? I couldn't wake him! Is he alright now?" The boy exclaimed.

"I am right here and I am fine, Master William, only worried sick about you," Alfred stepped forward, wearing a sad frown on his face.

Billy breathed a sigh of relief, before alarm overtook him once more, "What about that guy wearing a red ski mask? I… I didn't even check on him… Oh man, please tell me he is alright."

"I am fine; don't worry about me," The young man in grey body suit and red mask answered from a corner, sounding awkward, "And uh, it's not a ski mask."

Billy turned towards the young man in red mask. Seeing the other really appeared fine, the little boy sighed, finally relieved, and gave the vigilante a small, tentative smile. He walked up and extended a hand hopefully, "It's uh… it's nice meeting you. What do you go by? My name is Billy Batson by the way."

The red mask was as expressionless as always, but the posture spoke of shock and incredulity. Eventually the two shook hands. "Call me Red Hood," The vigilante said.

Billy looked as if he was about to say something, when Batman cut in and said, "Now Billy, you have been through a lot; we can speak later, after you have rested. Alfred, why don't you take the boys up? Red Hood, can you see to the kid? His cuts will have to be cleaned up and wrapped. And then all three of you get some food and sleep."

Billy frowned and said, "With all due respect, sir, I think I need to be here right now. Let me tell you what happened in detail…"

"That's enough, Billy," Batman's voice became sterner, "Alfred and Red Hood already told me what happened, and we have cameras in here. You need to go upstairs."

Just then Aquaman emerged from the pools and joined them in the cave, tracking water in his wake and saying, "Batman, they did not come in through the river. Even if they can breathe underwater the current would be too strong for most... Uh…." The King of Atlantis stopped and looked at Billy and Batman alternatively, rather confused by the now conscious and very calm and focused small boy and a tense looking Batman.

"You are right, Aquaman, I am pretty sure the intruder came in through the Wayne Manor," Billy said in a firm voice, "He left the secret passageway into the Batcave wide open! That's why I came down here; I was in the library and basically saw a hole in the wall. I thought something was wrong. And when we fought he used a gadget that basically made a lightning storm inside the cave; maybe that was how he broke all the cameras and sensors."

This time the silence lasted even longer as every stared at the small boy with disbelief. "'When we fought'?" Batman eventually growled out, "You _fought_ him?"

Billy blinked, before saying, "I was trying to run away from him, and then he put that thing on my neck and I was really scared. I was just trying to run, really. Anyway, about what happened? When I got down here I saw Alfred and Red Hood, but the intruder wasn't in this room. Another secret door was open. Hmm, where is that door? Wait, I think it's here…"

He started walking towards one corner of the cavern, but only took a few steps before he collapsed onto his knees with a hiss. While the others were still staring a little slack-jawed Batman swooped up the child in his arms. "What's wrong?" He asked, trying to sound gentle but failing.

Billy answered nervously, "Nothing much, head… just a little dizzy." With that he started shaking his head vigorously, as if trying to shake his head clear of something.

Batman put a gloved hand on the child's head and snapped, "Hold still; if you have a concussion this is only making things worse. Alfred…"He glanced towards the old butler and paused for a moment, before saying, "Red Hood, take Alfred upstairs. Go get some rest, both of you. Vic, Arthur, I am trusting the two of you with this for now. Keep collecting evidence and see if you can pull anything off the computers. I will be over at the back, in the med bay."

"Batman, but…" Billy was about the protest again, but swallowed his words at Batman's severe look.

With the child ensconced firmly in his arms, Batman swept into the medical bay tucked in a corner of the Batcave. He set the child on the bed and dug out some supplies. "I will clean the cut on your head and it's going to sting," Batman warned, "Try to hold still as best as you can."

Billy nodded and did not reply. He sat perfectly still, barely even blinking, as Batman dabbed at the long bloody cut on his head with alcohol, seemingly oblivious to the pain. After Batman finishes wrapping his head he murmurs in a small voice, "So can we…"

"Take off your shirt," Batman said brusquely, "Let me take a look at your back."

Billy gave Batman a surly look, but still took off his shirt obediently. This time he did hiss when his clothes dragged across the scraps and cuts on his back. Unbeknownst to Billy, Batman was clenching his jaws so tightly they threatened to lock as he fixed the small boy's back. When Batman was finishing up with bandaging Billy tried again. "Should we go back to find Cyborg and…"

"No," Batman said, "You need to eat something and then sleep; I will take you upstairs."

There was a pause, before Billy said in a louder voice with palpable frustration, "Will you _ever_ let me help?"

"No. You stay upstairs."

"But this is important!" Billy jumped down from the bed and stood facing the Dark Knight with a very serious expression, "Someone broke into the Batcave, he went pass all security just like that, and he knows your secret identity, I am sure of it! He called me 'Batman's brat'. There has to be a big plot! He went through two doors and went down those stairs. He wanted something and he knew where it was."

Batman stood very still and stared at his son. The boy was wearing such a fierce expression, so purposeful and completely unafraid, he could not be the boy who stumbled onto a terrible big secret unprepared.

"You knew you would find the Batcave when you stepped into the secret passage," Batman said, and it was not a question.

Billy bit his bottom lip. He had a pained look on his face, almost as if he was fighting someone inside. Eventually he muttered, "Just the way you talked about Batman yesterday, it sounded personal. And you aren't home at night, and you always have bandages or bruise on you. It made sense. Then yesterday, when I said I ran away to buy a game, I actually went to the Hollows. I thought perhaps… And then I saw Dick leaving. He didn't see me but I know he left that game _Swordhunter _there, at a new grave without a name. Barbara told me it was Damian's favorite game."

And that was when Billy started crying. Tears filled his big blue eyes, and with a couple blinks they all came rolling down his cheeks, leaving wet streaks. The boy sniffed and continued in between heartbroken sobs, "Why didn't you tell me? It's okay if you can't tell me that you are Batman, but why didn't you tell me about Damian? I thought he would be home for Christmas! I was trying to find a present for him. And I kept asking you and Alfred about him, I bugged Dick and Barbara nonstop too. They must all hate me for this! I am sorry, I am really sorry. Can you tell me everything now? Tell me what happened, or tell me I am wrong, tell me Damian really is fine…" The boy's already strained voice completely fell apart, and he was now crying openly without even any attempt to hold himself together.

Batman only stood there, utterly frozen like a statue, even incapable of a small gesture like putting a hand on his son's shoulder.

"Batman," Cyborg was seen approaching the med bay, "Batman, we have got a situation. Superman and Wonder Woman are seen in Khandaq; you know the sanction on interference there… Oh, um…" He too stared at the crying boy with an awkward expression, almost as if he suddenly did not know where he should put his hands and feet.

Batman finally seemed to awake. He drew a shattering breath and said, "Alright, that's enough. Billy, go to your room, and go to sleep. There is something I must deal with right now." When the boy simply stared back at him with those blue eyes brimming with tears Batman clenched his teeth and hissed, "I said go, elevator is right over there!"

Billy did not speak. Still sobbing quietly, he turned around and walked towards the elevator, disappearing behind its sliding doors.

"Get me to Khandaq, I need to talk to those two," Batman said to Cyborg.

But Cyborg was still staring at the elevator door and looking more uncertain than ever. "But Batman, don't you think the boy…"

"Stay out of it," The Dark Knight growled, "And stay focused."

Aquaman walked up and gave Batman a sidelong look, before saying, "Though the boy is correct, we need to get down to the bottom of this."

"I have a pretty good idea what the intruder came for, which is why it's paramount that I get to Khandaq and talk some sense into those two clueless kids over there. Now. And as for finding the intruder I will get to it."

Aquaman was still gazing at the Dark Knight with this critical look, and he began in an earnest voice, "Look, Batman…"

He barely said a few words when he was interrupted by an angry roar. "Stay the _hell_ out of it Arthur!"

Aquaman said no more and only gave a sad shake of his golden head.


	12. An Undead Name

AN: Thanks everyone for the reviews! Here is another chapter.

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**Chapter 12: An Undead Name**

Monday afternoon, Barbara received a call from Alfred just as she was scrambling to get ready to head over to the Wayne manor for Billy's tutoring session. She had lost track of time doing research work on her latest nutcase villain encounter, someone calling herself the Ventriloquist, and now it looked like she might be a few minutes late. Maybe an apologetic ice cream cone was in order. She was pondering the issue fondly when Alfred called.

"Miss Gordon, I thought I must tell you this before you arrive," Alfred's voice sounded unusually sad and tired, "Billy was hurt last night. He ran afoul an intruder in the Batcave."

"That's terrible! Is the kid alright? I mean… Wait, _what_?" It took a couple seconds of processing time before it finally clicked for Barbara, and she was stunned speechless.

There was actually a quiet sigh from the other end of the phone line, which only alarmed Barbara some more. She was still speechless when Alfred finished the story. She was always of the opinion that Billy should know, not only about Damian, but about the entire Batman business. But certainly she did not want the boy to find out like _this_, deciphering the truth all by himself and then jumping head first into a confrontation with a dangerous unknown villain.

"I kept him at home today," Alfred murmured, "Master Bruce is away on League business, and he is in no state to speak to the boy about anything in either case. Master Richard just left for Chicago yesterday. I was hoping, Miss Gordon, you might forego whatever lessons you planned and just _talk_ to the boy."

"I will try my best," Barbara said quietly.

Billy was in the gym, looking ridiculously calm and focused for a small boy who was just brutalized by an intruder less than twenty-four hours ago. That was how Barbara found him, running on the treadmill machine while reading a book and murmuring to himself. Barbara had to shake her head. How often did one see a little boy running the treadmill and reading at the same time? That was something for time-crunched college students and white collar businessmen, but not for ten-year olds!

"Hey Billy," Barbara tried to keep her voice light and unaffected, "What are you reading there?"

"Barbara!" The boy closed his book and jumped off the treadmill, beaming at her, "You are here, great! I thought you might not come today. And this is just my English reader. There is a spelling quiz tomorrow, and I am looking at the words again. I want to do well; I have already gotten better in English."

"Good to see you so hard at work, but I didn't know you think better while running?"

"The running?" Billy shrugged and mumbled with discomfort, "Just thought I'd get more exercise. I want to become stronger, do the kind stuff you and Dick can do."

"Do you want to be an acrobat or a gymnast? You are not considering becoming a ballerina right?" Barbara meant to tease, but her voice was anything but. Deep down she knew exactly what the boy meant: to join them in their nightly crusades. But no, not that! Never mind Bruce, even she wouldn't allow it; no more of ten-year old throwing himself into dangers unimaginable.

The boy flushed and he protested with a laugh, "Aw, Barbara, I said I was sorry! I didn't mean to make fun at your dancing stuff, and I know now a dancer is just as much as of an athlete as an acrobat." And then he sobered up and said in a serious voice, "But I want to learn how to fight. It's important."

Barbara sat herself down on the floor and motioned for Billy to join her. "Alfred told me what happened last night," She began quietly once Billy sat down beside her.

"Alfred told you?" The little boy blinked a couple times before realization dawned, "Of course! You are part of it too. You are Batwoman? Or Batgirl?"

Barbara actually laughed at this. "I'm Batgirl, actually. Batwoman is a more elusive figure. I think only Bruce knows who she really is. You probably figured out already who Dick is, right?"

"Yeah, Nightwing. Alfred said he went to Chicago yesterday? Did something happen?"

"He received some intel about a criminal; don't worry, he is perfectly fine."

There was a moment of silence, before Billy said hesitantly, "Barbara, please, please don't get mad at me for asking this. But did Tim leave Gotham because… well, because he is not doing this bat thing?"

"What? No!" Barbara took the boy's hand in her own and said, "Not at all, Billy. Tim left because… Actually it's a long story. He is part of the family, as much as you or any of us. But he leads his own crime fighting team now, that's why he can't visit as often." Well, that was half-truth at best; Tim hardly wanted to visit all that often in any case.

But Billy seemed to be more focused on the other issue. "So he _is_ in this too!"

Barbara immediately sensed that the conversation was going down the most dreaded yet perhaps inevitable path. Before she could even formulate an appropriate speech, Billy blurted out, "I… I want to help."

Barbara took a deep breath to stop the flat "no" from coming out of her month. One Bruce was more than enough, Billy did not need to deal with another. She took a couple moments to compose her lines, before saying, "Billy, it's nice you want to help, but you don't have to. In fact, you shouldn't. What kind of family would we be if we send out a ten-year old boy into the streets at night fighting dangerous criminals?"

"But…" Billy frowned. Whatever he wanted to say, he caught himself mid-sentence and fell silent.

Barbara thought she knew what Billy was going to say, so she went on carefully, "Damian was a different story, Billy. His mother was a member of a criminal organization, and when he came to us he was already fully trained as an assassin. Robin was almost like a transition for him; it was as normal as it could be for him. If we could we would've stopped him altogether. He did not any sort of recognizable childhood, and now he would never have anything else either…" Barbara had to breathe again to stop her voice from breaking down. She counted slowly to five before she continued, "Billy, none of us want his life for you. We want you to have a healthy, happy childhood and grow up to be who you want to be, not who we are."

"I'm sorry, Barbara," Billy threw himself at Barbara and hugged the young woman fiercely, "For this and for every time before I just asked you about Damian like that…"

Involuntarily Barbara hissed. Friday night's lonesome patrol in Gotham had given her more bruised ribs on top of layers of old injuries. She could do without a full body hug right now. Billy let go of her as if burned and actually jumped up, now staring at her with horror. "I'm so sorry," He said in a rush, "That was dumb; I shouldn't have done that. Did I make it worse?… I…"

"Hey, relax, Billy," Barbara took the boy's hand and pulled him down again, "I'm fine, it stung a little and I was surprised, don't worry about it. But that was what I mean though. You shouldn't live like this, always full of injuries that you can't even hug someone."

Billy gave her a look and replied glumly, "I can't hug you anyway."

It was a very simple statement but it hit Barbara a lot harder than imagined, and she simply could not find a response. She stared at the child, suddenly at a loss. Billy started once more in a slow and quiet voice, "And Barbara, I wasn't going to say that Damian did it. That's just…Anyway, I'm not trying to replace him; I know I can't. I just want to help. Did Mr. Wayne ever tell you that I used to run errands for Occupy Fawcett City? I really liked it. I like helping people."

Here Barbara finally found her voice. "And you can definitely help people, in so many ways. You don't have to go to the extremes that we do, and you _shouldn't_, Billy, you are a ten-year-old. Please let us protect you."

"But I want to protect you guys too! I was so useless last night. I…" The little boy stood once more and took a deep breath, "I know I can help people in lots of different ways. I am helping people. But this is not just about anyone, I want to help _you guys_: you and Dick and Mr. Wayne, especially Mr. Wayne. He is just so sad and angry. Batman always had a Robin. Batman needs a Robin, right?"

Barbara knew she should say no and simply crush the boy's unrealistic ideas, but she could not. The Dark Knight was still lonely, cold, reckless and relentless. He still patrolled the streets like a machine, oblivious to pain and danger; even the thought of a son to go home to could not make him err on the side of caution. It was only three days ago when Bruce told her he simply could not bear spending more time with his own flesh and blood. And now? Batman would rather be away on Justice League business than keeping watch over his son, who had just discovered a terrible secret and escaped death in one fell swoop. He would only grow more reclusive and reckless from here on. Billy was absolutely right: Batman always had a Robin—Batman always needs a Robin.

"It doesn't have to be you, Billy," Barbara protested weakly, "It shouldn't be you."

"I know I can't be Robin right now, I am not good enough. I might never get there, maybe I can never do the kind of stuff you and Dick can do. But I want to try," The child looked at Barbara directly in the eyes, "I want to be there for you guys. Will you help me try?"

"I can't make that kind of decision for Bruce," Barbara said quietly.

They both fell silent for a long time, staring at each. Eventually Billy asked, "So how did all of you start, Barbara? How come Mr. Wayne agreed to let you guys join?" When Barbara remained silent he added with a frown, "You won't even tell me that?"

Barbara sighed. At that precise moment she realized there was no stopping the boy now. There was such a fearsome light in those big blue eyes, so bright and reassuring it seemed unbefitting of the tender face. That's how _all _of them looked. Why did Bruce always find the crazy ones? Those stubborn and fearless little boys who would gladly become his fellow crusaders, undeterred by pain or death or worse still?

Then again, maybe she wasn't the one to talk.

In any case, she better do _something_ productive. It wouldn't hurt to teach the kid more self-defense, and a few basic pointers about how to survive as the son of Batman were in order anyway. And of course, someone needs to keep an eye on him. She stood up and took a deep breath, forcing away all the pain and uncertainty in her chest. Then she said earnestly, "Bruce accepted us because we all proved to him we have the drive and the skills to do the right thing and to stay alive. Look, Billy, I have been giving you martial arts lessons already, haven't I? I can keep doing that. I can teach you everything I know. But ultimately the decision rests with your father, for quite a few years at least."

A brilliant grin slowly lit up Billy's face, and the boy said, "I can't possibly ask for more; thank you. I would hug you again if I could, Barbara."

Barbara laughed lightly. She put her arms around the boy's small shoulders and kissed him on the forehead. "You are a good boy, Billy," She whispered beside his ear, before straightening, "Now come on, let's go over the moves I showed you last time. After dinner we can read a good book and then maybe go over some basic things you should know as the son of Batman, how is that?"

It shouldn't be this particular little boy, so young and innocent, with no personal demons to make peace with, no overwhelming tragedy to avenge. Perhaps it would not even be him.

But it would be _someone. _Like Batman, Robin never dies.


	13. Interlude: Trinity War Begins

**AN: Thanks to all for reviews! Here is one more chapter for your enjoyment. I am tying the story to current New 52 storylines and events closely now.**

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**Interlude: Trinity War Begins**

With a frown Alfred rewound the security video and watched it from the beginning once more.

The breaking and entering at the _Batcave_ of all places, by an enemy who clearly knew Batman's identity and had the answer to every security precaution Batman set up still hung over them like a palpable storm cloud. Apparently this enemy had stolen the kryptonite ring from the depth of the Batcave and gave it to an alien named Despero, who then promptly attacked the Watchtower. While Despero was neutralized and the ring recovered, the mastermind behind it all was still invisible to them. Batman had pursued this threat relentlessly in the past few days. In fact, Batman was so intent on the intruder, he seemed to overlook another important matter.

Overlooked, or just did not want to see? Alfred shook his head sadly. But someone had to look into it, so here he was. In front of the old butler the brief security video continued rolling.

The intruder to the Batcave was dressed in a special suit with electromagnetic shielding, Cyborg had explained, so he would not show up on any camera. However his brief encounter was Alfred and Red Hood was still captured on film; Alfred could see the painful detail of himself crashing into the empty glass case and the blur of black that was the intruder. After Alfred dropped down unconscious the intruder became invisible to the security camera again, and there was nothing but unmoving machines in the video. Nearly ten minutes later, Billy dropped into the video frame. The boy rushed towards Alfred and knelt down, two fingers on the butler's neck and a hand on his arm, and then pushing Alfred to lie on his side.

Alfred clicked pause, his frown deepening. The expression on the boy's face was just all wrong. He was tense, yet focused and even calm. The wonders of the Batcave did not distract him, and the unconscious bodies did not frighten him; his posture was that of a warrior, ready to spring into action. And he certainly knew how to find a pulse, the ease and precision of his motion screamed "he had done it before".

_"First aid knowledge and training."_

Alfred scratched another line on his notepad.

As the video continued, glares lit up the screen before him, swallowing Billy's figure whole, and then the video ended. Here was when all cameras, sensors, and electronics failed inside the Batcave, fried back into the stone age despite the best surge protection. It looked almost as if the very air in the Batcave became ionized and conductive, releasing a flood of charges—a real lightning storm indoor.

_"Immunity to electromagnetic shocks?"_ Alfred wrote.

Either that or Billy was extremely lucky that he somehow managed to escape unscathed a lightning storm surging through a cave full of metal objects.

And then what? Cameras and sensors were off, but Billy did manage tell them a few things before Batman firmly pushed the boy out of the whole business. Alfred continued scribbling on his notepad.

_"Why the inhibitor and mask on a little boy? Voice related metahuman ability?"_

_"Asked after Master Jason's alias, but not Cyborg and Aquaman? Media exposure to Justice League or more?"_

_"Previous encounter/experience with vigilante work?"_

_"__Wants to be Robin.__"_

Alfred scratched a few underlinesafter the last line for emphasis and sighed. He had always known that Bruce Wayne could not bring home a child without eventually bringing the child into the family business in every sense of the word, but this was turning out to be more complicated than he could have ever imagined. Of course, Bruce was still so deep in denial he did not even seem to notice all the peculiarities trailing Billy's footstep. In his present mind set Bruce would consider nothing but a wall to keep the boy permanently shut out.

Except it was clear Billy was not one to be shut out. In fact he was probably already more immersed than anyone had realized. Alfred fingered his note and made up his mind to speak to Bruce. They _must_ decipher exactly what fate loomed over the youngest Wayne child. Just then his phone rang.

"Master Bruce," Alfred murmured in greeting.

"Alfred, I need you at the Hollows, now," Bruce's voice of barely contained fury sounded from the other end of the line, "Bring the CSI kit."

"Of course; may I inquire what happened?"

"Someone... Damn it, it was the League of Assassins; they dug up Damian and his mother's grave. They _stole _him."

Alfred was still collecting forensic evidence from the desecrated graves, but Bruce Wayne seemed to lose interest already. It was only too obvious who took the body of _his son_ and that of the child's mother—Ra's Al Ghul, but who else? Collecting evidence almost seemed like an unnecessary habitual compulsion. Bruce straightened, took a couple steps back, and looked at the old headstones a distance away. Now that he was no longer mired in a fit of murderous rage, it was easy to see what he missed.

"You can come out now, Billy," He said in a low, harsh hiss, "Don't make me go over there."

It remained silent for a few seconds, and then they heard the shuffling of fabric and leaves and grass. Billy crawled out from behind a headstone, wide-eyed and shell-shocked. He stared at the empty graves and the piles of dirt with terror, and eventually he whispered, "I heard you guys talk. Did someone… did someone really steal Damian? Why?"

Bruce ran a hand through his hair and growled, "You are supposed to be home. Barbara is supposed to watch you!"

"She didn't come," Billy explained, "I called and her roommate answered, said she came home last night really tired and is still sleeping. I thought she must've had a hard night, you know what it is, and I shouldn't bother her."

Bruce massaged his temples tiredly. After quelling the sudden surge of worry for Barbara, he asked, "So why are you here?"

"I went to check on Barbara; I wanted to make sure she was okay and bring her some cookies Alfred made. And then on my way back I thought I should come here, a quick visit, that's all. I…" Billy looked at the unearthed graves once more, the anxious look on his face slowly turning into a palpable anger, "Why? Why would anyone do that?!"

"Because doing what we do beget many enemies, all heartless and insane," Bruce answered bitterly.

Billy walked up and put a hand on his father's arm tentatively. His touch was feather light, almost as if he was afraid to put any weight into the physical contact. "We are going to get Damian back, right, Mr. Wayne? You said you know who took him; do you know where they are?" The boy whispered.

Bruce brushed the boy's hand away. He steeled himself and said, "No, there is no 'we' in this. This is none of your business; you will not get involved and you are not to come here again, understand?" These two sentences were all but impossible to say, and the wounded look in Billy's eyes was like a knife in the guts. Bruce dearly wanted to kneel down and hug the child with all his might, but he forced himself back, standing so rigidly as if an actual wall towered between him and his son. Some boundaries must be kept at all cost, lest he lose another child.

"Do you hear me, boy?" He said once more.

Something flared in Billy's big blue eyes; it looked like anger, or resentment, but mostly it was exasperation. The boy gave a curt nod and said with distasteful emphasis, "_Fine_."

Bruce turned to his butler and said, "Alfred, please take Billy back to the manor; I can finish up here alone."

Alfred sighed sadly and murmured, "Of course, Master Bruce."

His father's sanction did little; only three days later Billy was back at his brother's empty grave once more. He snuck into the cemetery in the dead of the night and set down his big backpack right beside the headstone. The boy pulled out a few camping lights and arranged them around him. The light seemed eerily faint in the pitch black of the cemetery, but it was enough to work with. Billy then took out a large sheet of tracing paper from his pocket and unfolded it, revealing an enormous diagram of overlaid circles and pentagrams and rows and circles of inscriptions. The air itself seemed to crackle with magic as the spell was laid bare, and Billy could not help but shiver. Captain Marvel may be the rightful inheritor of Solomon's magic and even a great sorcerer in his own right, but Billy Batson was still rather unnerved by the dark power hidden within the depth of his mind, the kind of power he could so easily put down on a piece of paper.

He carefully flattened the tracing paper on the ground and placed a globe at the middle of the magical diagram. He then dug out a Swiss army knife from his pocket and dragged the blade across his finger, wincing as he let blood drip onto the magical diagram. He took a deep breath and began reading the inscriptions out loud. His voice quivered and shook towards the end of the long recitation. Billy was no sorcerer, certainly not skilled enough to handle one of Solomon's intricate spells, but this particular tracking spell must be read aloud by a blood relative. Even as he tried to wrap his tongue around those strange words, thick magical energies surged without control, threatening to fry his brain, and his voice was beginning to slur. _Just a little longer, got to finish saying everything_, Billy told himself. He tried to ignore the vertigo and just picture Damian in his mind, this brother he had never met. When he finally pronounced the last syllable of the spell he breathed again, and called, "Shazam!"

The thunderbolt of Zeus shot down from the inky night sky, striking the boy and the intricate spell laid out on the ground. When the glaring lights faded Captain rose from the glows of the magical circle, holding the globe in his hand. A point of faint green light on the globe marked a location in North Africa. It should have been a concern, but Captain Marvel froze for an entirely different reason as he stared at the globe in his hand, almost as if afraid to blink.

The point of light should not be green. Solomon's knowledge told him that if he were truly tracking a dead body, he would be seeing a glowing red point on the globe, not a green one.

Damian lived.

But barely. The green light seemed so faint, almost as if it would go out the next second or soon become the red one he was expecting to see. Captain Marvel did not ponder the issue long. He took one last look at the globe in his hand, memorized the location, and then took off into the night sky. Somewhere in the back of the mind he knew he was heading straight into Kahndaq, the closed off nation embroiled in civil war and refusing all outside mediation. He could easily be taken as an "imperialist meddler", his innocuous act a declaration of war. But how could he turn back, knowing that his brother yet lived, and the wound bleeding his entire family dry could perhaps be healed? He just had to be better at avoiding detection.

And of course it would not be so simple; things always went wrong.

Captain Marvel remained calm and held his ground when he was intercepted by Kahndaqi military. He was so close, and no way would he leave before he found his brother, even if it meant tearing off gun turrets from a dozen tanks. His heart sank a little when _Superman _appeared right in front of him and delivered a punch that actually hurt, and the entire Justice League following in Superman's wake. Captain Marvel looked at the Justice League with despair. It wasn't like he really could explain his action before, but now with _Batman_ of all people here, it became all but impossible to even try. By the time the newly formed, government-sponsored _Justice League of America_ appeared to allegedly repel the Justice League from Kandahq, Captain Marvel realized with a heavy heart that his selfish quest had truly sparked something terrible.

Though no one save the perpetrator of this crime could have imagined the forever evil unleashed upon the world.

* * *

**PS: The end of this chapter leads directly into Justice League #22, and then Trinity War (JL #22, JLA #6, JL Dark #22, JLA #7, JL Dark #23, and JL #23) happen exactly as it does in the comics. I will give brief overview of what happened in future chapters, but they are brief. (Trinity War and the ongoing Forever Evil stories are a really great event! I enjoyed it a lot and encourage old and new comic fans to try it out.) **


End file.
